A Blueprint of Something We Never Finished
by caramelo
Summary: They stand there, very still and very quiet, and it feels like those rare moments back when they were dating, when the world would mercifully pause for an hour or two, and they were left alone. "If I go," he says tightly, "I won't come back."
1. And I Probably Always Will

_A Blueprint of Something We Never Finished  
__by caramelo_

**Author's Note: **Just an idea that wouldn't quit bugging me after the season finale. A little AU from the end of the episode (as in: cutting out Lucas's ridiculous proposal). B/L, of course. Please remember to review!

Lucas Scott remembers the first time he ever saw Peyton Sawyer, all skinny arms and a tangled mess of hair. It was the beginning of sixth grade, when the two local elementary schools converged into one large, imposing middle school where everything that never mattered before – money, popularity, girls – suddenly _mattered _in a big way.

She was sitting on the curb by the school, knees drawn up to her chest, waiting for a car that wouldn't come for another few hours at least. Lucas knew because he was across the street, waiting for his own mother's car to come rattling up after her shift ended at the café. Normally, he would've been holed up in the library, reading in a private alcove to pass the time, but the day was so pretty in the middle of a week that had been so miserable that he found himself drawn outside.

He could literally feel himself falling for her in those two hours where she was absorbed in her sketch pad and he was absorbed in her. It was the beginning of a long and painful crush that would span years, social circles, and other relationships on both parts. He couldn't help himself. There was something inherently beautiful about lonely, dark, apathetic Peyton Sawyer.

Who would have known back then when he first laid eyes on her that this is where that tortured crush would take him – right into a tortured love affair? _It's still hard_, he had told her, after she had just so recently confessed to him how much she wished she had accepted his marriage proposal four years ago, and that wasn't a lie. Seeing her would never stop being hard. He supposed he ought to have considered that this was how it would all turn out, really, back in middle school when he finally got the nerve to speak to Peyton a year later in seventh grade English.

_"What's that you're drawing?" he whispered while the teacher's back was turned, spying her huddled over her sketch pad once again and sensing a prime opportunity to finally speak to the girl who had been seated next to him for six weeks now._

_"Well, it's called a sketchbook," she snarled back. "So I suppose you could call it a sketch."_

_"Of what though?" Lucas persisted._

_"Do I know you?" she demanded, not waiting for an answer. "Mind your own business."_

He smiles, bitterly, at the memory. They had never been on the same page, not then, not now, and not even in-between, really. There had been a time, in high school, when they had been in love and the world was every shade of golden but it was short and fleeting and riddled with frustrating drama.

So, yes, seeing Peyton Sawyer is, had been, and always would be hard.

He reaches for his phone and dials a number he knows very well.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he says when the person on the other end picks up. "Can you meet me?"

Twenty minutes later, he's at the Rivercourt standing in the middle of the black asphalt, Peyton's words surrounding him: _I will always love you, I will always love you, I will always love you_. There was a time when this would have set his heart aflame, that damned comet reawakening his faith in love and art and music; now, it only makes him tired.

There's a shadow beyond the court, facing the river. She's here, already, and he wants to express his gratitude so badly but the words choke in his throat. It doesn't matter. She hears them anyway and turns to face him.

Lucas Scott remembers the first time he ever saw Brooke Davis.

It was sixth grade again, a short time after he had first seen Peyton. In fact, it had been Peyton he had been seeking out in the lunchroom that day, although once he had caught sight of that head full of golden curls, it was hard not to notice the brunette firecracker beside her, cherry-glossed lips gleaming and bubblegum cracking.

She was, in a word, vibrant.

He hadn't recognized it then, watching her as she confidently took her place at the table in the center of the cafeteria, right next to the blue tray of one Nathan Scott. "Hey cutie," she said, much more flirtatious and direct than any sixth grader should have the right to be. All eyes were riveted on her, calculating and judging, and she took it all in with a cool nonchalance and an easy smile. Nathan's lips curled, a slow smirk, as he began to answer back but Lucas's curiosity faded fast as he refocused his attentions on Peyton. He grinned to himself as he saw her scowling off to the side. She was above all that popularity and reputation stuff. She could see right through Nathan Scott.

How terrible hindsight was, he muses so many years later.

"Luke," Brooke says, and his reverie dissolves to see a much more adult Brooke Davis standing in front of him. Sparkly cherry lip gloss has long been replaced with a more muted shade of red and eyes that were once bright with youthful vibrancy are now bright with tears. He remembers suddenly how she had to give up Angie today and how she folded into his arms so easily, shaking and heartbroken, and feels guilty and selfish for pulling her back into all of his old problems.

"I shouldn't have called," he says, shaking his head.

"Luke," she says again and makes a grand sweeping gesture with her arm over all the _I will always love you_s, and she smiles. "I get it. You were there for me earlier today, now let me be here for you."

He meets her eyes and hopes she can feel the gratitude radiating off of him. He hopes it's enough to mask the confusion and the pain and the uncertainty that are rising up, trembling in his fingers and stopping up his throat and filling his eyes.

"Tell me something, Luke," she says, and he waits for her to specify but she doesn't.

"What?"

She shrugs, and the smile on her face grows gentler. "Anything. Let me in your world a little bit."

He remembers, once, a long time ago, he had brought her here to the Rivercourt for that exact purpose. But just being here isn't enough anymore, and he isn't that same boy who can define himself so effortlessly anymore. He hangs his head.

"Is it possible, do you think, to give up on loving somebody?" he finally says.

Silence is the only thing that meets him. Reluctantly, he looks up.

Brooke has gone very still and very white. The smile on her face, so kind and gentle and full of warmth, has gone slack. He wishes he could read into her blank expression and pull something out, but there's nothing to be found.

"Everyone said it was a mistake for me to marry Lindsey," he continues, when it's clear he's not going to get any kind of reaction, "but I never wavered, not once. I said _I do_, for godsake, but even then everybody still blames me not loving her enough for her leaving me. They all keep telling me I'm in love with Peyton." He smiles, and it's bitter. "Do you think I'm in love with Peyton, Brooke?"

Brooke swallows and forces herself to regain composure. The way she approaches the situation is all very diplomatic and professional, no doubt the result of years of training in dealing with the press. "I think that you and Peyton have a lot to work through, _clearly_," she says with a pointed glance down at the _I will always love you_ underneath her feet, "and I think you and Lindsey have a lot to work through as well. You've definitely got some soul-searching ahead of you, Lucas Scott."

He considers her words. "Okay," he says slowly, "I'm going to ask you again if you think I'm in love with Peyton, but this time I'd like for you to cut out the PR bullshit and give me something real."

She sighs and shakes her head, and a ghost of a smile reappears on her face. She sounds wistful now when she speaks, and a little broken. "Honestly?" she says. "I think you and Peyton had something epic, and that's what haunted me all those years ago in high school when we were together. I don't think there's a person in this town who can deny that you and her were made for each other."

He opens his mouth, but she never gives him the chance to interrupt her.

"But like I said, that was years ago, and we're all different people now. We don't live in some fairytale romance book where nothing ever changes, and you marry the girl you dated back in high school." She pauses, then grins wickedly. "Well, except for Naley, of course."

He nods, thoughtfully, and toes at one of the _I will always love you_s beneath his own feet. It smudges a little, and he stops, frowning.

"Did you, Luke?" Brooke asks hesitantly after a long beat of silence. "Did you give up on loving somebody?"

Her eyes are wary when he looks up at her, as if she isn't really sure that she wants to know the answer. She has always been a sucker for fairytale romances.

"I can barely look at her," he says quietly. "Every time, all I see is Lindsey running down that aisle, leaving me because of _her_. I honest-to-God loved Lindsey, Brooke. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her. And every time when Peyton gets involved, everything in my life turns into another _what could have been_."

"Luke…"

But she doesn't know what to say. He wonders how long it's been since bubbly, cheery Brooke Davis has been stricken dumb. He needs to hear something anyway, even if he has to force it out of her. Even if it's insincere.

"Yes?"

She shakes her head.

"Brooke, what?"

"I'm sorry," she says, and when she looks back up at him he sees tears in her eyes. "It's just...I know how much this hurts, remember? I'm one of those could-have-beens. I always thought I was doing the noble thing letting you go because you and Peyton were supposed to be worth it. I think that's what Lindsey's doing too."

"She said there's another guy," he says tonelessly. "How much do you really think she's hurting?"

Brooke doesn't look away this time. "There aren't words," she says, eyes hard, and not for the first time, Lucas regrets letting her go with a ferocity that nearly tears his heart to shreds.

He could tell her this, Lucas muses, but he won't. There isn't a time or a place for that, because the time and place for him and her has long passed, and there's nothing he can do about it. "I never wanted to hurt anybody," he says.

She takes another few steps forward and stops just short of him. He's not sure if she meant to reach up and run a few light fingers down the side of his face, or if it surprises her just as much as it does him. "But in the end, it all hurts just the same," she says, but her tone now is kind, as opposed to all those years ago where she spat that out at him hatefully.

"Brooke," he says roughly, reaching up and entwining her hand in his.

She puts her other hand on his chest, as if to hold him at bay. "I'll probably be run out of town with pitchforks for saying this, but…go find her, Luke. Go find, Lindsey."

"She's gone," he protests, but she shuts him up with a _look_.

"You know where she is," Brooke says, sounding as if she's scolding him. "I'd run back up to my fancy New York publishing office too. I'll bet you she's buried in her work right now, trying to forget about you."

"Do you think it's working?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

"Not as well as she'd like," Brooke says as a small smile touches her lips.

They stand there, very still and very quiet, and it almost feels like those rare moments back when they were dating, when the world would mercifully pause for an hour or two, and they were left alone - his favorite times.

She's the first one to break it, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Go, Luke. She's good for you."

He sighs, a low, reluctant hum, deep in his chest. "If I go," he says tightly, "if I go, I won't come back. I can't do that to her again."

"I understand," Brooke says, and she doesn't look surprised. "And Peyton will too, eventually. I'll be here for her."

"You have an incredible heart, Brooke Davis," Lucas says slowly, forcefully.

"Tell me something I don't know," she says with a light laugh and a smile that stops just short of meeting her eyes. Her expression turns more serious. "Be happy, Luke. That's all I ever really wanted, all those years ago. I still want that for you."

"You too, Brooke Davis," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He feels her breath hitch against him and stays close, leaning down until they're touching forehead-to-forehead. "We could have really been something, couldn't we have?"

He sees the regret in his eyes mirrored in hers. "We both still had a lot of growing up to do," she says. "Things would have changed. Things did change."

"And yet we still ended up here."

"We did make a cute little faux family with Angie, for a little while," she admits.

"I thought so too."

"We would have had some pretty precious real kids too," she says with a smirk. "Brooke Jr. running around in little couture dresses and blue eyes."

"And Luke Jr. with hazel eyes and a killer jump-shot," Lucas counters.

"Luke Jr.?" Brooke says, making a face. "I always wanted him to have a cool name, like Armani."

"You can_not_ name our hypothetical children after clothing designers, Brooke."

She laughs, a short, barking sound that seems to hurtle her straight back into reality. Her eyes fill with tears again, and she steps back abruptly and looks away.

"Hey," he says, reaching out for her, trying to get her to look at him. "Brooke…"

She shrugs him away. When she meets his eyes again, it's of her own accord. "You have to send me pictures, okay?" she says, her voice breaking on the last word. "I want to see the new wedding dress and the tux – so help me, Luke, it better be an expensive one – and the little girl in pigtails and the little boy with the jump-shot. You have to promise me."

"I promise, Brooke," he says without hesitation, knowing he would've promised her the world if it would make her stop crying.

She nods and wipes the tears away in a brisk, methodical manner, careful not to smudge her mascara. "Good," she says, almost business-like. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering how yours turned out."

And though there's no particular emotion behind those words, though she's erased all evidence of her tears, and she's standing in front of him calmly, as if she's just said the most obvious thing in the world, it's that moment that shatters his heart and before she can react, he takes that small step forward and envelops her in a bone-crushing embrace.

"I never deserved you," he whispers into her hair fiercely. "Don't settle for anyone even remotely like me."

And he can feel her head tilt up against his chest to rest in the crook of his neck, and if it was up to him, he could stay there forever, but after a few minutes he can feel her shifting and he knows that breathing is probably proving to be a difficult affair for her in his tightly wound arms, and he finally lets her go and steps back, before he does anything that both of them will regret.

She's never looked more beautiful, standing there in front of him in jeans and a simple white blouse, her wavy hair slightly unruly from where he must have mussed it up against his chest. He drinks the moment in, making sure to burn every detail to memory. There's a voice in his head whispering that this is the last chance he'll get, and as much as he doesn't want to, he believes it.

"I love you, pretty girl," he says.

"You and Lindsey will have a good life together, Luke," Brooke says, and she sounds _sure._ "It's not too late for her and you to be something special."

When she turns and walks away from him, Lucas knows he'll always remember this moment and her sacrifice and those words, probably the last words she'll ever say to him, just as clearly as he remembers the first words she ever said to him, long ago in the dark interior of his car.

_"Did you feel it change?"_

_"Feel what change?"_

_"Everything. I mean, how many moments can you point to and say, 'That's when it all changed'? You just had one."_


	2. 82 Letters

**Author's Note: **Yes, this was originally a one-shot. And yes, I was incredibly apprehensive about posting this second chapter. Here's the thing – everything I've ever written on here (with the exception of Slow Dancing in a Burning Room because that one's a bit more personal) has some kind of sequel/continuation/etc saved on my computer. Some are crap, some are unfinished, and some I just never felt like posting. Posting this one, actually, was entirely unplanned. Deciding this one-shot was going to be a three-parter (third part to come soon) was definitely unplanned. But here's another thing – it's been a while since I've written a _story_. One-shots are sort of stories, but there's not a lot of work as far as development and plot (in mine, at least). I wanted to fix that. Hopefully, I didn't ruin the one-shot for you. Let me know what you think; I could always use the feedback!

That said, here's part two…

* * *

They write letters.

It's only fitting, given their history.

They write letters for years and years on end. Some are short - only a couple lines or so - and some are very, very long. Once, one of the letters spilled over ten pages and cost two extra stamps to send.

Lucas is typically the one responsible for those kinds of letters.

Sometimes, the letters include pictures. As promised, Lucas sends a picture of the wedding party. He's dressed sharp in an Armani tux, and Lindsey is gorgeous in a slinky, champagne-colored dress that looks nothing like her first one. The bridesmaids are in blue, and Nathan is the only familiar face Lucas has got among his groomsmen.

Brooke sends him pictures of Jamie's basketball games, Jamie's baseball games, Jamie's sixth birthday party, Jamie wearing clothes from the kids' line she's starting, Haley's second baby bump (she isn't actually showing yet), and all the times she remodels her store – just to get his opinion, she says, even though she knows he doesn't know a thing about interior decorating. She never sends pictures of Peyton or herself, and though he'd very much like her to, he thinks it'd probably be highly inappropriate for him to ask.

More time passes, and the letters keep up a steady pace – never more than once a week, never less than once a month. Lucas stores all his in a box that he pushes to the back of the closet. Some things, he thinks, you never really grow out of.

They share good news,

_The Baby Brooke line is getting a lot of buzz. Jamie modeled some of the clothes for the board the other day – they said they were _very _interested. Screw you, Victoria, I'm back!_

_-Brooke_

bad news,

_Lindsey just called to tell me my publishers are expecting another book soon. I told her I was working on the next one – hell, I told her the damn thing was coming along well – but the truth is, I haven't written a single word. I haven't been inspired by anything in ages. I wouldn't even know what inspiration looked like by now. I thought I did, with my second book, but we all know how that turned out._

_I'm worried I lost something I had back in high school – talent, integrity, a voice. I don't know. Something. _

_And now I'm about to lose something else: my job._

_-Lucas_

inane observations,

_Tree Hill shuts down by nine o'clock. It sucks. I'm drinking wine all by myself at my house, and at first it was okay because it was just a glass but now the whole bottle's gone, and that's kind of pathetic, I think._

_-Brooke_

_I fear for my life whenever I get into a taxi cab. No, seriously. I've been in enough car wrecks already, and hailing one makes me feel like I'm signing my own death warrant or taunting God or something._

_-Lucas_

funny stories,

_Deb and Skills were making out during church today in one of the confessionals. _Everybody _knew. They came out when the service was done, and Deb's hair was a wreck and her bra strap kept falling down her arm. Skills must have stretched it out. You should have seen Nathan's face – he was practically purple. I think he's probably jealous that his mom's getting more action than he is._

_-Brooke_

things they're looking forward to,

_I'm really excited for winter this year – and snow. I missed that in North Carolina; icy slush just isn't the same as foot-deep powder. I want to do it all – sledding in Central Park, skiing upstate, skating at Rockefeller Center. Did you ever do those things while you were here in Manhattan? I feel like you would have wanted to, but you were so busy with your company, so I'm not sure that you ever got the chance to. _

_Plus, it'll be my first Christmas with Lindsey as husband and wife._

_I know what you're thinking; you don't have to say it: I'm a sentimental freak. And random. But October's ending soon, and that's really all I can think about. Besides, since I'm pretty much jobless, I'll really be able to live it up during the holidays this year._

_-Lucas_

and things they don't want to get around to,

_Thanks to Hayley blabbing her big mouth to the new principal, I have to give a speech tomorrow at the high school about success and all you can achieve if you believe blah blah. You know, since I was student council president back in my day and went on to head a clothing line and everything. I have no idea what to say to those kids, especially now that I'm not even in control of my own company anymore. I'll feel like a total fake._

_I wish you were here to help me with my speech again, like old times._

_-Brooke._

But there are some things in their lives that they never write about – big things – because they don't really know how.

Lucas keeps a secret from Brooke for nearly a year, and then once, a whole month and a half goes by, and he doesn't send any letters. Brooke sends him two in quick succession, demanding to know if he's dead or what. After some deliberation, he tucks a picture of a newborn baby swathed in white blankets and a pink bonnet. He writes one word on the back – "Marie."

It's almost another entire month before he gets a response. He starts to squirm a little, because usually Brooke is the quicker one to respond. He wonders if she'll ever write him back at all, or if that was the breaking point.

The letter comes two days before the month is up. _She's precious, Luke_, Brooke writes_. I'm so happy for you. Really, I mean that with all my heart. Oh – and just wait till you see the baby clothes I'm going to send her. She's going to be the best dressed baby in all of Manhattan. Suri Cruise, eat your heart out._

Lucas shakes his head and chuckles. He should've known things weren't going to change.

From then on, nearly all of Lucas's letters center around the beautiful little girl that has stolen his heart. He rambles on for pages and pages and he know Brooke reads every word because she'll reference the little details in her own letters and she always begs for pictures, and he is more than happy to oblige.

One day, Lucas comes home from an outing to the park with Marie, excited to sit down and write to Brooke how good his baby girl's balance is getting and how she picked up a shovel and said "dig!" for the first time. But after tucking Marie in for a nap, he goes in his room to find Lindsey sitting cross-legged on the floor with hundreds of envelopes scattered around her.

"Lindsey," he says softly, "this isn't…"

She holds up a hand to silence him. They stay there for a few long seconds, still and silent, before she looks up at him. There's a quiet desperation in her eyes that Lucas hasn't seen since…before.

"All that time," she says, sounding dazed, "all that time, I thought I had to worry about _Peyton_."

"This isn't like that, Lindsey," Lucas protests.

"These _letters_," Lindsey says. "She's pouring out her soul to you, Lucas. And I can only assume you're doing the same because she seems to know everything about us."

"We promised to keep in touch," he says lamely.

"You've certainly been doing a good job," she says, massaging her temples.

"Really, that's all we're doing. We don't even talk on the phone, ever. This doesn't mean anything," he says.

She drops her hand, and he can see her eyes tearing up. "Then why do you keep them?" she asks.

Lucas falls silent. For someone so good with words, he thinks, he always manages to lose them at the exact wrong times.

"They're just a reminder," he says at length. "Of my past, of where I came from. They're all I've got left."

Lindsey looks down at one of the envelopes in her white-knuckled hand. "I just don't understand why you insist on holding on to all of that, Lucas. I really don't. I thought we were happy."

"We _are_," Lucas says.

"Then why do you still need all of this? Why can't you just move on?"

He's interrupted by the sound of Marie wailing down the hall. His immediate instinct is to run to her room and make sure she's all right but before he can do anything more than twitch, Lindsey drops the letter in her hand and jumps up. "I'll get her," she says in a tone he can't quite decipher. Lucas nods and lets her go without protest, listening intently as she pads down the hall, hears the quiet rustle of Marie being lifted from her crib and the soft lullaby Lindsey always sings as she rocks her in her arms. In no time at all, Marie's wails fade into whimpers, then dissipate all together. Lindsey's good at that.

Lucas looks back at the letters scattered around the floor in piles that look like little mountains. So many words she's written him about her life – and he knows he must have written her nearly double that.

He can't blame Lindsey for being upset.

The next letter he sends her is the shortest one he's ever written. Only one sentence – four words.

_Lindsey found the letters._

He doesn't even sign it.

An envelope arrives in his mailbox about two weeks later, and Lucas dreads opening it – puts it off for three days even until curiosity gets the best of him. The letter is about two pages. In it, Brooke doesn't express surprise that he kept all her letters or dismay that they were found and read by somebody else. She says she's sorry if Lindsey's upset, and she hopes she hasn't caused too many problems between them. Then she says that if she has, she's certain that they can work it out and even lists a few suggestions of what Lucas can do to make it up to his wife. She also says that she thinks that they should discontinue the letters.

Then she shares a few random stories about Nathan and Haley and Jamie and their new addition Sarah – and even Peyton. She drops a line or two about how busy her store has gotten and how fantastically her children's line is coming along.

She ends it by saying how dearly she'll miss their correspondence, but really, it's for the best that they end it.

_I love you, Luke. I wish all the happiness in the world for you and your family._

He can't bring himself to throw this one out like he does with all the rest of them. He just can't.

The end of the letters, though, is the beginning of the entirely new set of problems for Lucas and Lindsey. He wouldn't say he resents her, exactly, for making the letters stop, but it's something like it. And the trust issues and insecurities that she had successfully buried back in Tree Hill have returned full force. She races home now to check the mailbox first, pours over telephone bills, and questions him incessantly. He can't blame her, but living under with this kind of tension is unbearable. It's hanging over him, broiling under him, and choking the air out from around him.

Marie cries all the time now, as if she can sense the shift. Lindsey barely ever lets him be the one to go comfort her.

He tries to fix it, he really does. He follows some of the suggestions in Brooke's last letter.

But the conversation over a dinner date is strained, and Hannah the babysitter calls them before dessert because Marie's hysterical, and she's so sorry but she doesn't know what to do. Lucas can't even say he's that disappointed the night's ended early as he pulls the waiter over for the check, and he and Lindsey hurry out of the restaurant.

The day he brings home chocolate is even worse. They're expensive little hazelnut clusters from a specialty shop in the West Village – that's the day he learns Lindsey's allergic to hazelnuts.

"You didn't know that?" she says tersely, after reading the label on the box.

"Of course not," he says, "God, Linds, it wasn't like I was trying to poison you."

"That's not - ," she takes a deep breath and looks away. "That wasn't what I meant. All these years we've been together," she said, "and you didn't know I was allergic to hazelnuts?"

It's something so simple, and he could kick himself for being so stupid. He doesn't know what to say.

"It just never came up," he mutters after a few beats of silence, lamely shrugging his shoulders.

She looks back up at him, and he can see the tears in her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just hands him back the box, goes to their room, and shuts the door.

After the hazelnut incident, things get quiet. Really, really quiet.

Lucas feels like a robot now; everything's mechanical. The routine, the family meals, the writing, the conversations, the sex – it's all mechanical and empty and painfully cordial.

Gradually, the sex stops, the conversations stop, and Lindsey starts working late _and _early, so the family meals stop too.

So, when he comes home from the grocery store one day to see Lindsey's bags packed, he feels like he's been kicked in the stomach, but he's not surprised.

She comes out from the hallway, holding Marie against her hip.

And the way the tension choked him before is nothing compared to how he feels now.

"You can't take her," he says, pleading, desperate.

"I'm her mother, Lucas," Lindsey says. Her eyes are cold, but glittering with tears.

"She's my baby," Lucas says. "_Please_, Lindsey."

She makes a small sound in the back of her throat. "We can't keep living like this, Lucas."

"It'll get better," he says. "I promise. I'll do anything."

"It's been this way for months."

"I will do anything," Lucas repeats slowly. "Please, don't take away Marie."

Marie twists her head around at her name. She smiles at Lucas, reaches for him. He's pretty sure he can feel his heart breaking.

Lindsey shakes her head and pulls Marie a little closer. "What about me, Luke? You could give a damn if I left as long as Marie stayed."

"That's not true," Lucas protests. "You're her mother. I want you to stay too – here, where you belong. With your family."

"But this isn't working!" Lindsey nearly shrieks. Marie begins to wail in response, and Lindsey immediately begins to rock her. "No, baby, no. I'm sorry. Mommy's sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I can help," Lucas says, taking a step forward.

"No," she says sharply, eyes flying to meet his. "I don't need your help. This is what I'm talking about, Luke. We can't keep it together for two seconds, and Marie's suffering because of it. She cries all the time now, and I can't stand to see her so upset."

"She'll be more upset without me," he says anxiously.

"You'll still be in her life, Luke," Lindsey says, her tone kinder. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I just…" Lucas trails off and wants to berate himself. He can't lose the words _now_. Not when the most important thing in his life is about to be yanked away from him. "Lindsey, please. Please don't do this."

"I wish there was another way," she says quietly. "Believe me, I've tried to...I just can't get past this. Not again. I'm sorry."

There are no words, he realizes. There are no words to fix this.

It doesn't stop him from begging, pleading, wheedling – everything, for the next fifteen minutes as Lindsey stacks her bags neatly by the door. She's not indifferent, but silent in response to the desperate words spilling from his mouth.

When the cab gets there to pick them up, the last thing he sees is his baby girl's face, tear-stained but smiling, peering over her mother's shoulder. Then the door swings shut, and he falls to his knees.

The next few months are the worst of his life.

He doesn't call anyone, doesn't write, doesn't do _anything_. Just sits there and waits for the few bright spots on the weekends when he gets to see Marie. Lindsey says she's beyond reconciliation and files for divorce. She says she's already given him too many second chances.

"They were just letters," he says, over and over, every time she comes to drop off Marie or pick her up.

"They were more than that, Lucas," Lindsey says one day, breaking her silence. "She knew more about you than I did."

"That's not true."

"Lucas, I_ learned_ things about you from reading those letters," she says. "How do you think that made me feel? I was your wife."

"You still are," Lucas says.

Her eyes tear up, but she keeps her gaze steady on his. "It's over, Luke," she says slowly, forcefully. "I'm done trying to pretend that I'm the one. Please stop trying to drag me back."

And so it's over.

She's true to her word, at least. He sees Marie every weekend, and even some weekdays when Lindsey has to work late. She knows better than to hire a babysitter, knows that Lucas would be crushed to find he missed out on even a few hours with his little girl.

He still misses them both terribly all the time. He feels depressed, he feels hurt, he feels alone. Some days, he thinks about picking up a pen and writing to the one person who might understand, but that's what got him into this whole mess in the first place.

And then one day, the postman delivers a letter.

_I'm so sorry._

His hands start shaking.

He waits a week, then two, then a month. Finally, he musters his strength and picks up a pen that feels oddly heavy in his hands.

_How did you find out?_

The response comes quickly, no more than three days.

_Karen told me_. _I understand if you're upset with me. I never imagined…_

_Anyway, it's my fault. I shouldn't have pressured you to keep in touch. I should have just let you and Lindsey and Marie live your lives in peace. I hope you can forgive me._

He thinks a lot about what his response is going to be. It's not a welcome distraction from everything going on in his life, but a distraction all the same. He rewrites the damn thing eight times before sending it off.

_I don't blame you._

The letters stop there, for a while. He isn't sure exactly how long. He's pretty sure Brooke is holding off, letting him make the next move, and he's just not ready to do that yet. His days are still hazy – hazy and gray and never-ending. He half-heartedly works on a book that has no beginning, ending, or meaning in-between Marie's visits. All he knows is that one day, writing for the book turns into something more personal and his protagonist is saying everything he wants to say, and without even realizing it, he's written his next letter to Brooke.

_Thank you for giving me space._

_Thank you for knowing that's exactly what I needed. Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself._

_I think I'm ready to start living again._

Less than a week later, she writes him something back, and then he writes her something back, and they've resumed a rhythm that feels as familiar and as natural as rediscovering an old favorite song. He tells her this in one of his letters, and she devotes the entirety of her next letter to making fun of him for being such a sap. He laughs, tells her how much she's wounded him, and she writes back: _Oh no, you're not going to start that whole tortured athlete thing again that you had going on in high school, are you?_

_No, _he writes, a small smile touching the corner of his lips, _don't worry. I think I'm done being tortured. For now, at least._

It feels like the truth.

He's off the couch, at least, taking in his surroundings for the first time in a while. He spends three whole days cleaning up the mess he's made of his place and does five loads of laundry. He throws out all the expired stuff in his fridge and re-stocks his pantry. Hell, he joins the Crunch gym around the corner from his house.

He wonders if it all isn't symbolic: cleaning up all his tangible messes as a way of cleaning up the intangible one – the one inside of him.

And then Brooke's next letter comes.

_The Baby Brooke line is exploding. I'm coming to New York!_

He closes his eyes and feels a cool exhale of air over his shoulder, swears he can hear her whisper:

"_How many moments can you point to and say, 'That's when it all changed'? You just had one."_

She's coming to New York.


	3. Broody & Cheery

**Author's Note: **Yeah, so I said this was only supposed to be a three-parter. I lied. Fourth part to come, maybe a fifth…oh boy. There's a fair amount of time jumps in this chapter - watch out for that. And, lastly, I just wanted to say that the response to this former one-shot and it's continuation has been unprecedented. Thanks so much for all the feedback. You guys make my day.

* * *

There's a section cut out from Lucas's first book that nobody has ever read, save for two people other than himself.

He keeps a copy of it in a file on his computer. Sometimes, when he's feeling nostalgic, he pulls it up, gives it a read-through and tries to ignore the ache that accompanies the warm glow of the memory.

It's a double-edged sword, you see.

He hasn't seen the first person who read it since high school. In fact, the last time he even heard from Glenda was a few weeks after his book came out. She sent him a short email, congratulating him, telling him she knew the book was special, and that he would make it big.

She went on to say, though, that she was a little confused.

_Why did you delete that one part in chapter eight? It was beautiful. _

Lucas had known right away which part she was talking about_._ He sat there in front of his computer, Glenda's email still open in its window, and went to his documents and opened up that file for the first time in ages. Just for old time's sake, he gave it a read-through.

_There was a beautiful girl standing a few feet away from me, beckoning me forward._

_She was barefoot and blurred – probably thanks to the beers she had snuck us out of the refrigerator in her garage. She may have been student council president, founder of Tree Hill's chapter of DWnotI, and best friend of Tutor Girl, but Brooke Davis still knew how to be deliciously irresponsible._

_She reached the murky lake water and laughed as it lapped up against her feet, chillier than she expected it to be. She was still laughing as she turned around and kicked it at me, but somehow ended up getting more on herself._

_"Crazy girl," I said fondly, "you're staining your pretty dress."_

_Brooke frowned and looked down at the white folds of cotton fanning out around her legs. She squealed in dismay and snatched up a handful of skirt, examining one of the tiny brown splotches of water she had splashed on herself._

_"Damn red clay," she said, scowling._

_"I can have my mom take a look at it for you. She's real good with stains," I said, reaching a hand out. "Here, why don't you get out of that muddy water?"_

_She dropped the piece of skirt she was holding and the hem of the dress fell back around her milky calves, swaying back and forth against them as it settled into place. She cocked her head and squinted up at me, like she didn't understand._

_"Come on, Brooke," I said. "We can get some lunch or something. I think I had one beer too many."_

_"But Lucas," she whined, "it's the first pretty day all year. I wanna be here. Come swim with me."_

_I laughed. "Babe, the water's probably freezing."_

_"It's not that bad," she said, pouting and kicking another spray in my direction. _

_"Brooke," I protested._

_"Fine," she said innocently and turned away, only to look back at me over her shoulder. "You can watch." Her hair fell across her back in tangled, wind-tousled strands, something I knew she would fret over later until I proposed taking a shower together and helping her comb all the knots out. I smiled at the thought. She winked at me as she started walking deeper into the water. _

_"Brooke," I called out belatedly. "What about your dress?"_

_She paused and looked down. She was about knee-deep now, and a good four inches of her dress was already soaked through, floating lazily in the water around her. She twirled back around to face me, and the fabric twisted across her body, slow and heavy._

_"I'm rich," she said, after a moment's thought. "I'll just buy another one."_

_Anyone else, and that would have sounded horrifically shallow and negligent. Maybe it still was. But it was all I could do to shake my head to hide a smile. Brooke Davis had grown more than anyone else I knew in the past year and a half. She was allowed this – a small relapse, a brief reemergence of the spoiled, pampered princess she used to be. I thought it was kinda cute, myself._

_"Brooke," I said sternly, still struggling to mask a smile. "I'm coming in to get you now."_

_"No!" she yelled in a way that really meant _yes._ I started rolling up my jeans and she waded in deeper. By the time I caught up with her, she was a little past waist-deep. Her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing as I pulled her in against me, ruffling her hair and dropping kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her jawline._

_"PDA, Lucas," she said, but she was giggling. "You're going to get us kicked out of the park."_

_"Seems like we're the only ones who had the bright idea to come down to the lake," I pointed out._

_"Lucas!"_

_I pulled away and lifted up my hands in gesture of peace. "Fine," I said. "I'll stop."_

_She growled and launched herself at me. I snatched her up and lifted her high in the air._

_"Don't drop me!" she squealed, kicking her legs._

_"Don't kick me, and I won't!" I laughed._

_Obediently, she went still. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, basking in the warm sun. Water dripped off her dress and into my eyes, but I didn't look away. She was glowing._

_She opened her eyes and looked down, first at my hands, firm on both sides of her waist, and then at me, right into my eyes, unwavering. Her hair spilled down around her face, streaks of red and brown and black. It was getting long, I noticed, falling past her breasts against her ribs. _

_"Bring me back down," she said._

_I lowered her slowly, gently. When we were at about the same height, she wrapped her legs around my stomach and her arms around my neck. I adjusted my grip on her._

_"Careful, don't drop me," she whispered._

_"Never," I whispered back. "Trust me."_

_She shivered and ran her hands through my hair, carefully avoiding my eyes. "Will you miss me tomorrow, when you go?"_

_"Every day, Brooke," I said._

_It was the truth. There wasn't a moment that went by when I didn't ache for Brooke Davis._

_She took her hands out of my hair and trailed a finger over my face, tracing the bumps and contours, as if she was committing them to memory. Then, she leaned in and kissed me, tasting like alcohol and oranges and summer and forever._

It took Lucas two weeks to email Glenda back. He hadn't known what to say.

Long ago, when he had written that part, he had been sure that Brooke would be his book's ending. He had no idea that he was days away from being dealt the first big heartbreak of his life.

A few months later, he handed off his compilation of scribbles and memories off to Glenda, who had turned out to be surprisingly helpful. The draft was messy then, a little unfocused. He had undergone the great upheaval from Brooke to Peyton all within a very short time period. He knew, even back then, that the chaos in his life was reflected in his book.

And Glenda had been honest with him. Her notes were objective, critical where they needed to be. She told him to expand on the upheaval because, frankly, even she was dizzy from the sudden turnaround in his life.

And he had. He had edited, tightened, added details and omitted others until everything was seamless, as flawless as he could make it. "It's gorgeous," Glenda told him one day, handing him a handful of loosely-bound pages. "This is the real deal, Lucas Scott. This is what the world's been waiting for."

"You think?" he had asked, squinting down at the papers critically. "You really think it's ready?"

"Start shopping it around," she said, nodding. "And remember me, yeah? When it becomes a best-seller and you get all famous."

He had felt it then, that old thrill of excitement usually reserved for big games or the promise of seeing Peyton soon.

Of course, that thrill had dulled considerably after a year-and-a-half and an impossible number of "no's" from assorted publishers.

And then Lindsey had called and told him that his book had made her feel something.

He felt like he was eighteen and standing in the school parking lot with Glenda all over again. _It's gorgeous._

Of course, the next few months of editing were enough to dull that too.

Lucas and Lindsey fought constantly, over everything. The little things, the big things, the quirks that made his writing his. "_I_ love it, Lucas," Lindsey would always say_, "_but it's too raw for the general public. Every now and then, you have to get on their level."

"But that's not me!" he would say, pointing down at a paragraph she had reworked in her own neat script.

"This is what sells!" she would retort. "Lucas, your book has so much potential. I want everyone to want to read this. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever read. But it needs work."

Sometimes she won. Sometimes he did.

When it came to _that _part, though, that part with Brooke and the lake and the dress and the forever, Lindsey hadn't even bothered to rework it. She just shook her head and drew thick, black X's across those pages with a marker, sighing in anticipation of the battle that was sure to come.

"Why?" Lucas had asked, quietly.

It was always a slow build-up.

"They aren't going to work," Lindsey said, matter-of-factly, not meeting his eyes.

"Why not?"

"It's a gorgeous scene, Lucas," Lindsey began, "Don't get me wrong…"

"Then why are you marking those pages out?"

"They're…"

"No, Lindsey," Lucas said, shaking his head. "I won't compromise on this. If you had been there, that day…"

"It feels like I was," Lindsey said, smiling gently. "Lucas…it's just, the girl in this story is Peyton, not Brooke. This muddles that. It's – god, I don't know how to put this – it's gorgeous, Luke, like I said, but it's unnecessary clutter."

"Unnecessary clutter," Lucas repeated blankly.

Lindsey shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that. Let me try again." She paused for a second or two, then refocused her eyes and looked back at him. "It just confuses things, Lucas. You want people to believe in you and Peyton. This detracts from your goal. It's out of place."

Lucas leaned back and knocked against his armrest with his closed fist a few times, a steady rhythm. "Yeah, okay," he said finally, looking away. "I get what you mean."

"So it's okay for me to take it out?" Lindsey asked.

"Yeah," Lucas muttered. "It's okay."

She sat there, still for a moment, marker hovering as she considered the page in front of her.

"It's a shame," she murmured. "It really is one of my favorite scenes." She twirled the marker slowly in her fingers and then looked at him. "Maybe we could keep it."

Lucas looked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lindsey nodded. "We should keep it. We just need to change the name of the girl to Peyton."

Lucas's fist re-clenched.

"Absolutely not," he had said, and this time he would not budge. "Absolutely not."

Lucas wonders now if Brooke ever remembers that day, and if so, if it's a clear a picture in her mind as it is in his. He supposes that he probably remembers it a lot better since he's got the whole thing written down.

He's been opening up that file and reading it a lot lately, ever since Brooke told him she was coming to New York two weeks ago. He feels kind of guilty every time, but he pushes that particular emotion aside and reads it anyway.

He's lived enough of his life ruled by guilt already. He should be allowed this, at least.

So yeah, it's been two weeks since Brooke told him she was coming. She never specified exactly when she would get here, and she hasn't answered the multiple letters he's sent, all based around different variations of the question: when can I expect you?

He gave in once, three days ago, thanks to a churning mix of worry and exasperation, and called his mother to pepper her with questions about Brooke's whereabouts.

"I don't _know_, Lucas," she had said, over and over. "I haven't been in touch with her lately. I'll call you if I see her, okay? I'm sure she's just busy getting ready for New York."

Right, he had thought, of course. But why wasn't she responding to his letters?

He pushes himself away from his computer, having successfully converted his nostalgia into aggravation going over all this again, and figures he might as well drag himself to the gym for lack of anything better to do. Lindsey has taken Marie to see her grandparents for the weekend, and Lucas is still trying to pretend like the silence doesn't bother him. This is the first weekend ever he'll spend apart from his baby.

The gym it is, then.

But by the time he's re-emerged from his room and walked out the door, he's already pretty much convinced himself he doesn't want to go to the gym tonight. It's a pretty summer evening, and temperatures lately have been lower than usual. He appreciates that because it means he doesn't melt into a puddle every time he steps outside.

So anyway, he would be a fool to waste a night like this in a gym. He should go over to Central Park for a jog, or maybe Hudson River. But he hasn't even touched the sidewalk before somebody tackles him on the doorstep outside his house.

Lucas thinks he's getting mugged at first, honest-to-god. But his mugger is giggling too much, and the long brown strands of hair falling across Lucas's face smell like a very familiar brand of lavender shampoo. It awakens a long buried memory inside him, unfurls it like a flower. He takes in one last breath, opens his eyes, and sees her.

"Brooke."

"Lucas Scott," she says back, cheekily tilting her head. "Feels like it's been five years since I've seen you."

"It has," he says, finding himself short on breath. "It has." He takes a step forward, envelops her in his arms, holds her tight against his chest.

He can hear both their hearts beating, wild, and almost believes they're the only two people in the world.

Brooke's the first to pull away, laughing again, eyes bright with giddy cheer. "Let me see you," she says, somewhat breathless herself, and takes a step back. Her eyes start at his shoes and make their way up. She pauses when she gets to his head, squints, and takes a step forward. Lucas isn't quite sure what to expect out of her.

"Is that a gray hair?"

"What!" he yelps, hands flying to his head. "No!"

She grins evilly. "Gotcha."

"Not funny," he growls.

"Don't be such an old man, Luke," she says, waving him off.

He squints at her in distaste. "Fine then. Let me have a look at you."

At first, he's just half-heartedly scanning – trying to think up something that would rile her up – but as always, it isn't long before the girl standing in front of him pulls his attention in, forces him to notice all those little things that used to make him fall in love and break his heart all at the same time.

She looks…younger, weirdly. Her hair's a little longer, falling down her back instead of the sharp shoulder length she used to keep it at, and her make up's a little lighter. Twenty-seven year old Brooke looks a lot more relaxed than twenty-two year-old Brooke ever did.

"You look…really good," Lucas says at length.

"Well, gee, thanks. Don't sound so sure of yourself," Brooke says, rolling her eyes.

"No," Lucas protests, "I really…"

Brooke starts laughing and punches his shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says. "I'm kidding."

"Right," Lucas says sheepishly. "Well, you do look good."

"Thanks," Brooke grins. "You don't look so bad yourself."

Lucas smiles back, suddenly thankful that he was able to pick up himself and his life and clean it all up and put everything back together _before _her arrival. He gestures back up to the door he just stepped out of. "So do you want to go inside?"

"Okay," Brooke says. "But only for a bit."

"Oh," he says, a little surprised. "Did you have somewhere to be or…"

"No," Brooke says slyly. "_We _have somewhere to be. But first, you have to change out of those unfortunate basketball shorts. I thought we agreed to retire those in high school?"

"I was going for a jog," Lucas defends himself as they make their way up the stairs.

"Right," Brooke says as she steps past Lucas through the door he's holding open for her. "I hope so. That's the only excuse those things have for seeing the light of day again."

Lucas is about to protest as he follows after her, but stops at the sight of her up on her toes, twirling slowly around in the middle of his foyer. "Wooow, Lucas," she says appreciatively. "Nice digs."

He rolls his eyes. "Digs? Who says that anymore?"

She stops twirling and smirks at him, then raises an eyebrow pointedly at his shorts again. "High school basketball shorts, circa ten years ago? Who holds onto their glory days for that long?"

Lucas laughs and shakes his head. "Ouch," he says. "I thought you used to like these."

"I used to like the whole package," she corrects. "You know, star player, all that jazz. Not the shorts by themselves."

"They're not even the same shorts," Lucas grumbles.

She eyes them critically and then shrugs. "Close enough. I swear, Lucas, you'd think you could afford some nicer gym clothes. I mean, you've got the whole brownstone on the Upper West Side thing going on and all. Then again, it _is _the west side…"

"Oh, wait a minute now," Lucas says. "You got something against the Upper West Side?"

Brooke grins wickedly. "It's just not on the east side, that's all."

Of course, Lucas thinks, amused, he should have expected that. "This place has its charms, Brooke," he says. "Cafés and museums…and the people here are a lot more real. I actually like it a lot better than the Upper East Side."

Brooke rolls her eyes. "You would," she says. "Anyway, hurry up and go get changed. I'll try and make you see the light later."

Lucas shakes his head but obediently heads towards his bedroom. "How do I need to dress? Where are we going?" he calls over his shoulder.

She hesitates for a second. "I don't know," she finally answers. "Anywhere. Everywhere. Humor me and dress up kinda nice. It's my first time in the city in _ages_. I wanna fit in as much as possible."

That last part gives Lucas some pause as he's tugging on a nice pair of jeans that he knows Brooke will approve of – she gave them to him – is she not staying in the city for very long then? He wants to ask, but at the same time, he's not sure that he wants to know the answer. He decides to put it off, for now.

"Well," he says, stepping out from his room not long after, in those jeans and a dark blue button down.

Brooke looks over, eyes lighting up. "Oooh," she says approvingly, fingering his shirt. "I like that. Did I send that to you?"

He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Um, no. Lindsey did."

She pauses, thoughtful. "Lindsey always had good taste."

"I suppose so," Lucas says quietly.

Brooke looks up at him and smiles. He can't tell whether it's forced or not, but it looks pretty sincere. "So you ready for a night of New York, Brooke Davis-style?"

He grins back. "I think I can handle that. One condition."

"What?" Brooke asks, furrowing her brows.

"We stay on the west side."

She sighs dramatically but nods. "Fiiiiine, but you better show me a good time."

"Something tells me you know more about the New York party scene than I do," Lucas points out.

"Probably," she agrees. "But there's more I want to do than just party. Come on, let's go before it gets too late." She grabs his hand as she scampers off towards the door, and Lucas is happy to follow. Her hand is warm in his and it fits just the same way he remembers. For a second, he closes his eyes, and he can imagine that they're back in high school again. He opens them again, sees her hair swinging loose down her back, hears her laughing, and he wonders when his imagination blurred with reality.

He decides that he has sorely missed bouncy, bubbly Brooke Davis – a side of her he hasn't seen in much longer than five years. He's glad she's back.


	4. Brilliant, Beautiful, Brave

**Author's Note: **I know it's been a really long time, and for those readers that are still there - reviewing, messaging, whatever - thank you. Part of the reason this chapter took so long is that I had a little scene that I wanted _so badly _to keep in, but it meant restructuring later chapters around it, and as much as I tried, it wasn't working. Don't worry - you'll see it soon. Speaking of soon, the next chapter is pretty much written, so it won't be another year before you see that one. Consider it a peace offering? Haha. Thanks so much guys for sticking with me! Your reviews have all been so lovely, and for those that are still here AND any new readers, I'd love to hear from you!

* * *

"It's clearly demonic."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "It's not demonic, Brooke."

"Then it's rabid," she says, pointing. "Look at it, Luke. Normal squirrels don't act like that."

He looks down at the creature with a sigh. It's up on its hind legs, chattering loudly in front of them, showing no signs of backing down. _Maybe... _He shakes his head. "Brooke, we've been through this already. All squirrels in New York act like this. He thinks you're going to feed him."

"Well, I don't have anymore food," she says, more to the squirrel than to him. She looks back up at Lucas. "And I think you're wrong," she says stubbornly. "I'm pretty sure he's foaming at the mouth."

"He's not foaming, and you know it," Lucas says. "It hasn't been that long since you've been in New York, has it? You don't remember the squirrels?"

"I didn't exactly have the time to stand around and hang out with squirrels last time I was here," Brooke grumbles.

"Oh right," Lucas smirks. "You were too busy being a tabloid darling."

"Not even!" Brooke squeals, swinging her purse to hit him lightly on the shoulder. "I kind of had my hands full running a company. And besides, half of what they wrote wasn't even true."

"Really?" Lucas says curiously, lifting a brow. "Which half was true?"

Brooke flushes pink and looks back down at the squirrel. "Rude, isn't he?" she says to it.

Lucas turns his head to look at squirrel as well. It has stopped its chattering, momentarily. "No," Lucas says, laughing, "Look, he wants to know too."

"The two of you are awful," Brooke says with a huff. "And after I gave you half my sandwich too," she says, leveling a glare down at the squirrel before walking away from them both.

Lucas watches her stomp about ten steps further into the park before jogging to catch up with her, laughing, and throws an arm around her shoulder. "You don't mean that," he says, low, inches away from her ear.

"Don't I?" Brooke challenges, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her hair rustles with the movement, and suddenly – strangely – Lucas can smell oranges. His mouth runs dry as he realizes how close they are. Brooke smiles wickedly.

Carefully, he swallows and drops his arm before he does anything to complicate what has so far been a perfectly lovely _and simple _evening. Unbidden, the memory of Lucas and Brooke's last night in New York resurfaces – the one with the champagne and the carriage ride and that stupid, stupid kiss that made her run away from him. For some reason, being around Brooke Davis always makes him do stupid, irrational things.

Not tonight, he promises himself.

"Ignoring me now, are we?" Brooke cuts into his thoughts, pouting. But she can't hide the smile in her eyes, and so Lucas knows she doesn't mind.

"Never," Lucas proclaims. He ruffles her hair. "As if I could, really. I don't know if you know this or not, Brooke, but you've got this way of making people pay attention to you."

"Only child syndrome," Brooke says flippantly, batting away his hand, and then tilts her head. "So what were you thinking about anyway?"

Lucas pauses. His lips quirk upward in a wry half-smile as he answers: "You, of course."

Brooke laughs, happy and naïve. "Always a charmer," she says.

"That's me," Lucas says, playing along. "So where are we off to next?"

Brooke purses her lips. "Hmmm," she says thoughtfully, "well, we just got done eating. And god knows how we ended up all the way down at Washington Square – "

"Taxi," Lucas cuts in. "You didn't want to walk because you said it'd ruin your heels. God knows why you wore heels."

Brooke ignores him. "We're basically in NYU central right now. Bound to be a bar nearby. Maybe we could get a drink?"

Lucas eyes her suspiciously. "You sure you need anymore? You're already kind of tipsy."

"Am not," Brooke protests.

"Brooke," Lucas says, "you had two margaritas with dinner and started talking to a squirrel. You also fed him leftovers that I gladly would have eaten tomorrow."

"You would still be bitter about that," Brooke teases. "Fine, so bar's out. What else?"

"Sun's not quite down yet," Lucas says, shrugging. "Maybe we could head over to Hudson River and hang out on the pier?"

Brooke tilts her head, considering the idea. "That'd be nice," she decides, slipping her hand through his and turning west. "C'mon, Broody, if we hurry it up we might be able to catch the sunset."

"Broody," Lucas repeats, pausing.

Brooke halts too, untangling her fingers from his and letting her arm fall back at her side. "Sorry," she says sheepishly, turning back to look at him. "I just…"

"No," Lucas says, feeling a strange giddiness rising in his chest. "Don't be. It's just been so long."

"It has," Brooke agrees. Her lips curl upwards in a slow smirk. "But the nickname still fits."

Lucas scoffs. "It does not."

"Oh yeah?" Brooke says. She scrunches up her face and lowers her voice in an absolutely terrible impersonation of him. "Brooke, don't you think you've had enough to drink? You're falling all over yourself. God, Brooke, we're old people now. We don't…"

Lucas growls and grabs her hand again, tugging her along behind him as he heads for the park's edge. "Let's go see that sunset," he says. "We'll buy beer and a couple brown bags on the way."

Brooke's laugh is delicious and wicked and utterly delighted. Lucas shakes his head, then grabs her hand a little tighter and steers on ahead.

Brooke Davis makes him do stupid and irrational things, and he loves every second of it.

"It was a good idea," Brooke says, later, when he shares this with her (not about how he loves it, of course, just the stupid and irrational part.) "Admit it."

"We should be beyond giggling in convenience stores and buying paper bags to hide our beer in," Lucas says. "I almost expected you to throw out a fake ID too."

Brooke grins. They are both sprawled out on the grassy area of the pier, staring up at the dusky purple twilight. The beers, despite Lucas's grumbling, have barely been touched.

"I wonder where that old thing is," Brooke says. "It had a great picture of me. I should start using it again."

"We're not in high school anymore, Brooke," Lucas chides, playful, without any kind of real feeling behind it. He's just as irresponsible as she is, clearly.

"No, but…" Brooke hesitates.

"But what?" Lucas says. Brooke remains silent. He turns on his side and props his head on his arm to look down at her. Her curls are scattered across the grass, dewy and mussed. Her eyes are glittering under the sky's dim light. Lazily, she turns her head to look at him.

"Do you ever think we all tried to grow up too fast, Luke?" Brooke says. Her voice is sweet and soft, and Lucas knows she's being sincere. "I mean, just…"

"With everything?" Lucas says, quirking a brow.

"Yeah," Brooke says.

"I guess sometimes I wonder where I'd be if I'd done the normal college thing instead of dropping out halfway through to become a best-selling author who was wealthy and critically hailed by the New York Times and…"

"Be serious," Brooke giggles, reaching up and flicking his nose. Lucas squints in return.

"I mean," he says, at length. "Nathan and Haley were married, you were becoming a mini-mogul, Peyton was driving out to LA to work at a record company like two seconds into summer, and I…" Lucas trails off, mulling over his own words.

"Yeah, Brooke," he concludes, "we grew up really fast."

Brooke nods, satisfied. Lucas eyes her carefully. "Do you regret any of it?" he asks her.

Brooke smiles. "I couldn't," she says. "I poured my heart into that fashion line. But lately I just feel like I want to hold onto my youth while I've still got it, you know? I want to be able to look back on my twenties and remember more than just a company.

"But you," she says suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "You've got Marie."

"I've got Marie," Lucas echoes, smiling fondly. "I don't think I could ever regret anything since it all came down to her."

"Pretty Marie," Brooke sighs. "She's gonna be a real heartbreaker, you know. Those eyes are something else."

"She's not dating till she's thirty," Lucas says, matter-of-fact. Brooke snorts. "What?" Lucas says seriously. "She's not. At least not until eighteen at the very least."

"Oh dear god, Lucas, you are an old man."

Lucas grins. "In good conscious, I cannot let Marie out of the house. What if she turns out…"

"Like I did?" Brooke suggests brightly.

Lucas turns his gaze directly toward her. "If Marie turns out even remotely like you, I'll know for sure that I did something right."

Brooke's breath hitches. "Luke, I…" She pauses, composes herself, and shoots him a winning smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Does that mean I get to teach her how to take tequila shots?"

"Oh we're talking about high school you," Lucas says flippantly. "If Marie turns out like that, I'm locking her in a closet."

"You once said that high school me was brave," Brooke reminds him.

"I did," Lucas admits. "But high school you also got drunk and had sex in strangers' Jacuzzis."

"Only twice," Brooke says.

"Yeah and…" Lucas frowns. "Hey! Who was the other guy?"

"Don't even worry about it," Brooke giggles.

Lucas grumbles under his breath, and Brooke grins and tells him to get over himself.

Lucas, in turn, responds maturely by flicking a nearby spider at her. She freaks out (she's always hated bugs) and it attracts the attention of a patrolling officer, who spots the paper-bagged beers next to them and promptly kicks them out of the park.

Typical.

"You know," Lucas reflects as they're walking up Ninth Ave, back towards his apartment, "I never used to get into trouble. Not before I met you."

"How boring that must have been for you," Brooke teases good-naturedly. "Lucky that I came around and helped you out."

"Yeah," Lucas says, grinning despite himself. "Lucky."

And like a habit, he lifts his arm and settles it around her shoulders. They walk in a silent, friendly companionship for a few more blocks, until Brooke announces that her shoes are giving her a blister so painful that she's considering cutting off her own toe. So they hail a cab.

And as Lucas clambers in behind her, he smiles. Had that outburst come from anyone else, it would've completely ruined the moment. But this is Brooke, and that's always been the way she does things, and Lucas has missed it all sorely over the years.

"Where to?" the cabbie asks. Brooke gives him Lucas's address, and then the address of the Ritz-Carlton. "So two stops," she clarifies.

"You're welcome to stay at my place," Lucas offers, sorry to see the night ending already.

"Hotel's already been paid for," Brooke says, waving him off. "Besides, there's chocolate cake on the room service menu."

"How easily I'm replaced," Lucas chuckles.

"Sorry, Broods, turns out chocolate's my one true love," she says.

"Damn you, chocolate."

Brooke grins. The cab pulls up to Lucas's brownstone. He pays his part of the fare, and then throws in about what it'll cost to get from there to Brooke's hotel.

"You don't have to do that," Brooke protests.

"Don't worry about it," Lucas says.

"Lucas Scott, single-handedly bringing chivalry back into style."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Lucas says, ducking his head back in the cab after he clambers out.

"Am not," Brooke denies.

"I definitely sense a mocking tone," Lucas retorts.

"Am I still making two stops?" the cabbie cuts in.

Lucas and Brooke glance towards the front seat, then look back at each other and grin. "Yeah," Brooke says, batting Lucas away from the cab playfully. "Sorry about that. My friend was just defending his honor."

"Defending honor is very chivalrous," Lucas points out.

"Not when it's your own, dork," Brooke says, making a face.

"Miss, I can't drive you to your stop until he closes the door," the cabbie says pointedly.

Lucas and Brooke clamp their mouths shut mid-argument and grin at each other again. "Will I see you tomorrow?" Lucas asks, low.

"I have a couple brunch dates, but…"

"A couple?" Lucas interjects.

"I'm very in-demand," Brooke says, waving her hand vaguely. "But I'll call you after."

"Sounds good," Lucas says. He leans back out of the cab. "Thanks for the ride, man," he addresses the cabbie. "Have a good night."

The cabbie grumbles in response, pulling away from the curb as soon as Lucas pushes the door shut. He barely has time to jump away before the wheels of the car run over his toes.

But the annoyance that rises from that can barely dim the smile on his face as he walks up to his door. That strange giddiness from before sprouts deep in his chest again, and it's rushing madly through to the rest of his body like adrenaline. He feels like he's sixteen again, and the most popular girl in school has just draped her leopard-print bra over his shoulder.

It's a feeling that stays with him as he readies himself for bed, changing into pajama pants and brushing his teeth. He isn't sure how he's going to be able to sleep with it, but that's not a pressing concern. As he heads out towards his kitchen to grab a glass of water, he notices he left his computer running. He makes a detour for it and toggles his mouse; when the screen display flickers to life, he sees that old document's still pulled up.

But, for once, he doesn't have this irrepressible urge to sit and read through it again. Why should he, he thinks, grinning. He's got the real thing back, right here, with him.

Old words on a computer screen, even if they are _his_ words, can't match that.

So he closes the old document and pulls up a new one. He's not going to fall asleep anytime soon, he reasons. And he lays his fingertips across the keyboard, and begins to type.

_A very long time ago, somebody told me, "People who are meant to be together always find their way in the end…"_

Two hours and many words later, Lucas shuts down his computer and staggers to bed, half-worded sentences still composing themselves in his head. It's the start of something good, he thinks as he drifts off to sleep, but he's not sure if he's talking about a novel or something else entirely.

The next morning, Lucas wakes up at some ungodly hour to the sound of his phone ringing, incessantly. He groans and turns over to look at the clock by his bed – the glowing red numbers spell out eleven oh five. Briefly, he acknowledges how far off course his life has been lately if he's referring to 11:05 as "some ungodly hour."

The answering machine switches on. Lucas hears his own flat, pre-recorded voice and then, another voice comes on that is certainly _not _flat or calm.

"Lucas Scott," Brooke hisses. "I'm going to kill you."

Lucas's eyes widen – suddenly he's much more awake than he was before – and he sprints over to the phone.

"Brooke?" he says warily, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Where have you been? I've been texting and calling for, like, the past twenty minutes!"

"I thought you said you were doing all these brunches today," Lucas says, a brow furrowed.

"I was! Or…I am," Brooke says, "But seriously, Luke, these people I'm with now are like Bitchtoria incarnated. I have to get out of here or…"

"Brooke," Lucas says, "relax. Where are you right now?"

"In a bathroom stall," Brooke says in a small voice. "I just need someone on my side, Lucas. It's been a long year."

_For more than one of us,_ Lucas thinks, realizing for the first time that he hasn't been the only one facing his share of problems this year. Brooke had gotten her entire company stolen out from beneath her – by her own mother, no less.

"I'm always on your side, Brooke," he assures her. "And I'll be right there waiting for you when you're done. I assume you're having brunch at your hotel?"

"Yeah," Brooke says.

"I'll be there soon. And in the meantime, Brooke," he says, "go knock 'em dead. I don't care whose name it's under right now – Clothes Over Bro's is _your _company. You're an incredible designer, and more than that, you're an incredible person. The Baby Brooke line is amazing. Make them see that."

"How?" Brooke protests.

Lucas laughs. "Just be you, Brooke Davis. Be brilliant and beautiful and brave, and you'll win them over."

"I never felt like I lived up to those pretty words of yours, Lucas," Brooke admits.

"Of course you did," Lucas says. "That's why I fell for you."

Brooke sighs, but Lucas can hear the smile behind it. "And now?"

"And now, we can add resilience and grace to the list," Lucas says firmly. "No one else would've been able to handle all of this like you did. You've already gotten past the hard part. You picked yourself back up."

"Lucas, I…" Brooke sniffles, then laughs softly. "I have to fix my make-up, you big jerk. Thank you."

"I'll be there soon," Lucas promises.

"I'll be waiting," Brooke says. "With a new contract in hand."

"Of course you will," Lucas says, matter-of-factly.

There is a pause. Lucas briefly wonders if the connection was dropped, but then he hears someone on the other end take a big breath, and Brooke begins to speak again. "Thanks for having faith in me, Lucas," she says, quickly, before hanging up the phone.

Lucas smiles as he sets his own phone back down on the receiver. Fifteen minutes later, he's in a cab headed towards the Ritz-Carlton.

There's a low hum in the pit of his stomach as they wind through the streets – not from nerves or anxiety, he realizes, but from excitement. Everything is on the line here: Brooke's company, whether or not she stays in New York, and consequently, their burgeoning relationship.

But Lucas knows, sure as he knows the little lines that crease Marie's palms or the way a basketball bounces against the unsmooth terrain of the Rivercourt, that this is all going to work out. He may not be there to help Brooke, to vouch for her, to do _anything_, but Brooke Davis has never needed to be saved before.

He has no doubt that this time, same as every other time, that she'll pull through just fine by herself.

And sure enough, Lucas has barely stepped out of the cab, when he hears: "Lucas!"

He turns to see Brooke barreling out the hotel doors, hair streaming behind her, face lit and brilliant. She jumps straight for his embrace, throwing her arms around him as well, with – as promised – a new contract in hand.

"We did it! We did it!" she squeals.

"You did it," Lucas says, lifting her up and spinning her around.


	5. The Purple Monkey

**Author's Note: **So, I had this chapter written…and I rewrote it. I was trying to incorporate more characters and storylines, and I decided I hated the direction it was going in, because this story isn't about that. It's about showing how, after all the years and history behind them, Lucas and Brooke are meant for each other, and I really didn't want to detract from that core. Sorry, again, for the wait. You guys really are the most patient people in the world, and I appreciate it.

Marie's favorite toy is a purple monkey.

Lucas gave it to her a very long time ago, right after she was born. He set it up at the head of her crib, where it waited for her until she came home from the hospital, curled her pudgy fingers around its foot, and claimed it as her own. Since then, it's been an understood rule in the house that where Marie goes, the monkey goes too.

Lucas has never told Brooke about Marie's toy. So it's a complete surprise for her when she comes to visit Marie for the first time and sees the girl tottering around with the plush monkey she gave to him over five years ago.

"Lucas," she says, touched, as she kneels down next to his daughter and looks up at him. "You kept it."

"Of course I did, Brooke," he says quietly.

She swallows and glances back down at Marie and the monkey. It's a bit faded over the years, and there are a few light green blotches from that time Marie took a marker to it, but judging from the awed expression on Brooke's face, that doesn't take away at all from the memory behind it.

"_Hey, Luke," she said suddenly, stopping him just before he reached her door. He turned back to look at her. "We've been through a lot, me and you. But I wouldn't have made it through today or a couple other days without you. So…thanks."_

"_You're welcome," he murmured, soft, smiling._

_She smiled back and thrust the purple monkey in her hands out to him. "This is for you. I love you, Lucas Scott, you know that?"_

"_I love you too, Brooke Davis."_

"Mine!" Marie shouts when Brooke reaches out to run a finger over the monkey's fur. Then she shrieks with laughter.

Brooke starts laughing too, and Lucas can feel the static hum in the air dissolve. "Yours," Brooke agrees, then picks up a nearby Barbie doll. "Does your monkey want to play with Barbie?"

Marie considers Brooke's offer for about two seconds before snatching the doll out of her hands. "Mine!" More laughter.

Lucas knows he should take this moment to step in and teach Marie about sharing, but the two of them look so happy on the floor together, laughing uproariously every time Brooke picks up a new toy and Marie plucks it from her fingers, that he can't bring himself to interrupt. Eventually, Brooke glances up and meets his eyes, pausing, as if she can sense his indecision. She turns back to Marie.

"I know this is yours, Marie," she says, speaking slowly as she picks up the next toy, a stuffed Elmo, "But maybe you could let me play with it for a little while, and we can have fun with your toys together."

"Okay!" Marie shouts, and Lucas knows it probably has more to do with her getting bored of the "Mine!" game rather than learning the importance of sharing, but it's a start – and not a half-bad one at that, he thinks, watching as the purple monkey and the Tickle-Me-Elmo set off on some new, fantastic adventure. Brooke catches his eye again and smiles. He smiles back.

That night, when he puts Marie to bed, she hands him a Barbie so he can have something to sleep with too. Lucas kisses her atop her forehead and graciously accepts. On his way back to his room, he texts Brooke to tell her all about it.

His phone beeps almost instantly with her response, and he doesn't even have to read it to know that she's thrilled.

Lucas, Brooke, Marie, and the purple monkey spend a lot of quality time together from that point on. All that gushing in her old letters, Lucas is realizing, was totally genuine. Brooke is completely, irrevocably in love with Marie.

Selfishly, sometimes, it makes some part of him feel relieved. Brooke rarely mentions the possibility of going back to Tree Hill anymore. The other part of him, however, is worried. Marie is falling in love right back with Brooke and, well, what if she _does_ leave someday?

"I brought hamburgers!" Brooke calls from the foyer, entering his house with the spare key he gave her one day (in case of emergencies, technically, but she uses it for anything and everything, and he really doesn't mind).

Marie squeals with delight, and Lucas begins setting the table. Lindsey's out-of-town for a book tour, and he's been busy writing his new novel, so Brooke has come by every day after work with take-out for the three of them. Four days in, and Lucas already can't imagine how lonely the dinner table was before. Brooke has settled into their lives seamlessly.

"Hey, pretty girl," Brooke says upon entering the kitchen, dropping the take-out bags on the counter and making a beeline to sweep up Marie in her arms.

"Bookie!" Marie shrieks.

"That's right," Brooke grins. "Bookie's home. And I brought burgers!"

"Bugus!"

"Bur-gers," Brooke pronounces, slower.

"Bugus!"

"Yep, you got it," Brooke says. She glances over at Lucas and shrugs, pasting on a charming grin. "Can't say I didn't try."

"Yeah, yeah," Lucas grins back, shaking his head. Brooke always has a hard time correcting Marie, whether in behavior or pronunciation – mostly because she thinks everything Marie does is completely adorable. And then Lucas has a hard time stepping in because he thinks the two of them are adorable together, and it's really just this vicious cycle, but they're working at it.

"So can I read your new novel yet?" Brooke asks in-between bites of her bacon cheeseburger.

Lucas's lips curl up in a half-smile. It's a question he's come to expect every night now. "Not yet," he replies.

"Come on, Lucas," she wheedles. "When? You let me read parts of your first book while you were writing it."

"We were dating then," he points out.

Brooke rolls her eyes. "So advance copies are girlfriend-exclusive?"

"It would appear so."

Brooke pouts at her food. Everything falls silent for a few moments except for the sounds of his daughter banging her fork against the table. Lucas reaches out and stills Marie's hand, gesturing for her to eat the cut-up pieces of burger on the plate in front of her.

"…Hey, Lucas?"

"Yeah, Brooke?"

"Wanna date?"

"You can't read it yet, Brooke."

"Damn."

"Language."

"Sorry."

Lucas hides his smile by taking another bite out of his own mushroom and swiss burger.

The week ends, but the dinners don't. Every Sunday, at six o'clock sharp, (or sometimes, six-fifteen because Brooke can't be on time to save her life), Brooke comes around with take-out bags from one of the thirty restaurants located in the ten minute radius around his house. Some days, they eat at the table, like normal people, and some days, they break out his spare sheets and eat under a fort in his living room.

In-between all this, the Baby Brooke line is getting great advance reviews, and Brooke decides her living arrangements in New York really do need to become a bit more stable. She winds up picking a nice, open studio on the East side (despite Lucas's lobbying for the West side) and they spend an entire weekend in IKEA picking out furniture while Marie jumps on all the couches, and then spend a whole other day assembling it.

"I'm pretty sure the picture says this piece goes into _this _slot," Brooke says, turning the instruction manual the coffee table came with sideways.

"I'm pretty sure I'm never buying anything from IKEA ever again," Lucas grumbles.

Brooke grimaces apologetically. "I just didn't want to buy anything too expensive or permanent, you know, in case…"

"In case what, Brooke?" Lucas says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

"New York has become home for you now, Luke, and I get that," Brooke says carefully. "You have Marie, and a house, and your book publishers, and all these other responsibilities here. But I'm still trying to figure out where my home is."

_Your home is with me_, Lucas thinks.

"You have responsibilities here too," he says instead. "The Baby Brooke line…"

"Might not do as well as everyone thinks," Brooke finishes. "Yeah, I've got some great sketches, and yeah, that denim diaper is _genius_. But that might not mean anything, and that's the reality."

"Why are you doubting yourself?" Lucas asks, frustrated.

"I'm _not_," Brooke insists. "Listen, I was pretty insecure when I first got here. I know that. But I had the support of a pretty great friend to pull me through" – she smiles at him here – "and I got over it. Now I'm just trying to think logically. I don't know where this is all going to lead yet."

"Right now, it leads here," Lucas says stubbornly, setting the coffee table pieces down. He rubs the back of his neck. "You can always sell your furniture later, Brooke."

Everything is silent for a few moments. Lucas knows he's probably overstepped his boundaries, showed a hand he probably should have kept to himself, but somehow he can't quite bring himself to take the words back.

"That coffee table is pretty flimsy," Brooke speaks up at length, thoughtful.

"Yeah…"

"And I really imagined something sturdier, you know, in case I wanted to work on sketches in front of the tv."

"Yeah…"

"I don't even _have _a tv." Brooke looks horrified at this. "How am I supposed to keep up with Gossip Girl?"

"Exactly," Lucas says, forcing a smile. "Now, can we please go buy some furniture that has _already been assembled_?"

Brooke looks down at the pieces of coffee table around him with a dubious expression. "Yeah, I guess that might be a good idea," she says.

"Thank god," Lucas mutters, tossing the pieces aside as he scrambles up to follow her out the door. It isn't quite the victory he imagined, but it's something. One more tether to the city, and consequently, to him.

After they finish settling Brooke into her new apartment (which takes about a week and a half, day and night, once she actually gets excited about decorating it), the summer starts flying by really, really quickly.

Brooke becomes consumed with the impending opening of the first Baby Brooke store, constantly either sketching or on her way to meetings or filling out paperwork, and Lucas is pretty busy with writing his book as well. Brooke still comes by to visit once every few days, for Marie's sake, but Lucas can tell it's a strain on her. He's never seen her so frenzied in his life.

"Don't worry, Luke," Brooke assures him whenever he inquires about her well-being (which he does at least twice in every conversation they have). "God, you should have seen me when I was building the company the first time around. _That _was unhealthy."

_You were busy with Peyton the first time around_, a nasty little voice in his head whispers occasionally. _ And she was busy mending a broken heart._

Just as everything's hitting fever pitch, the call comes from Victoria on July 2, only a week and a half before the grand opening of the first Baby Brooke store.

Lucas is with Brooke at the time, helping her with her grocery shopping, because lately she has this awful habit of stocking up on caffeine and energy bars and not on fruits or vegetables.

"I know you're really busy with all this work stuff right now, Brooke," he stresses, "but you're going to make yourself sick if you don't start eating _real _meals."

"Overrated," Brooke says, waving him off as she types away on her Blackberry. "Who has the time?"

"You will," Lucas grumbles. "Even if I have to cook for you myself."

Brooke pauses in her typing momentarily, shooting him a grin. "I always wanted a personal chef."

"Great," he retorts, dumping a bag of rice in the cart. "I charge by the hour."

"And here I thought it was out of the kindness of your heart," Brooke drawls as her phone begins to ring. "Hello?"

Almost immediately, her face turns ashen.

"Mom?" she says, her voice tight and high-pitched.

Lucas sets down the two packages of frozen vegetables he had been considering and catches her eye. "Are you okay?" he mouths.

Brooke nods – slowly, but grabs his hand all the same. On the other end of the line, Lucas can hear Victoria's voice speaking, fast, but he can't quite comprehend the words.

"I'm not going to hang up on you, Mom," Brooke replies, sounding very tired now.

More noise on Victoria's end.

"Yeah, the store's opening on the 13th…No I don't think that's unlucky. I don't believe in luck, Mom. Just hard work. And karma.

"…No, that wasn't some veiled shot at you, but if you'd like to take it that way, I won't stop you."

Lucas can just barely hear Victoria's subsequent request spilling out from the phone: _May I come to the opening? I'd like to discuss a few things with you._

It's enough to make him want to grab the phone from Brooke's hand and hang up on the witch himself. But he'll let Brooke have that satisfaction, he thinks.

Only she doesn't do it. She doesn't hang up. After a long silence, she takes a deep breath, swallows, and nods to herself.

"Yes," she says out-loud. "You can come. Just don't try to steal this away from me too or I'll have the police escort you off the premises."

Victoria laughs uncertainly, shrill enough that even Lucas can hear the discomfort. She thanks her daughter and bids her a cordial farewell, and Brooke untangles her fingers from Lucas's and hangs up the phone with a short, shaky sigh.

Lucas opens his mouth to speak. She holds up a hand.

"Don't," she warns, "Don't ask what I was thinking."

"You need a break, Brooke," he says instead, quietly. "All this stress is going to kill you."

For the first time, Brooke agrees. "That might be for the best."

And so two days later, on July 4, Brooke finally appeases him by shelving her sketches and paperwork, throwing up her hands, and claiming a mental health day. Then she comes over to his place with a big jar of mayonnaise.

"Um," Lucas says uncertainly.

"We're celebrating," Brooke says, marching past him towards the kitchen, grabbing Marie's hand along the way. "We're making potato salad and hot dogs and whatever other fatty American foods we can think of and we're picnicking in Central Park."

"Brooke," he calls out, still standing flabbergasted in the doorway. "You don't know how to cook."

"It's potato salad!" Brooke yells back. "How hard can it be - "

_Crash_.

Marie cackles with delight.

"Um, Luke? Don't freak out…"

Lucas is pretty sure his kitchen will never stop smelling like mayonnaise after this holiday, but maybe it's a fair trade off, he thinks, watching Brooke flit around in an apron, doing a terrible job of boiling potatoes and rolling out pie crust. Marie, meanwhile, is sitting up on the counter, happily mashing dough between her fingers.

"Let me take care of that," Lucas steps in when he sees Brooke preparing to chop the potatoes. "Seriously, Brooke, step away from the giant knife."

Brooke makes a face at him, but relinquishes the knife gamely enough. She has this thing about paying attention – she's not particularly good at it.

"I'll help Marie decorate the sugar cookies," she decides. "You have red and blue frosting, right?"

"Um, no?" Lucas says.

"Lucas!" Brooke protests, hitting him on the arm. "Where's your July 4th spirit?"

"It's not like you have any either! All you brought was mayonnaise!"

Brooke shoots him a dirty look as she picks up Marie. "We're going to go get ready," she says, walking off down the hall.

Lucas sighs, looking at the mess of pots and cutlery in front of him. He's pretty sure Brooke staged this whole frosting protest on purpose, just to get out of cleaning. "I'm on to you, Brooke Davis," he calls down the hall. "I'm not going to wash all these dishes myself."

Faintly, he can hear Brooke and Marie giggling deviously. They're bad influences on each other, he decides, as he dumps the potato salad into Tupperware and begins washing the mixing bowl in the sink.

A couple hours later, they're all sitting on an old blanket in the middle of a very crowded Sheep's Meadow. The Tupperware containers are licked clean, and the sun has begun its slow descent across the sky.

"Broo-dee," Brooke says slowly, emphasizing the purse and stretch of her lips.

"Booo-dy," Marie repeats, staring back at her solemnly.

Brooke nods and shifts to point at Lucas.

"Broo-dee," she repeats.

Marie turns and looks him straight in the eye. "Broo-dy."

"Very good!" Brooke laughs, clapping.

"Boody! Boody!" Marie squeals, delighted.

Lucas groans, reaching out and sweeping Marie into his lap. "Daddy," he corrects her.

"Daddy," Marie repeats loyally.

He looks up and smirks at Brooke. "You're not corrupting my daughter just yet," he says.

Brooke waves him off. "Give it time."

Lucas can't even protest the idea of that. More time is all he really wants. With Marie, and with Brooke. There's a slow, deep ache that has sprouted deep in his chest in these past few weeks – though he's not sure if it wasn't always there, buried – and he's finally admitting to himself what it's for.

It's just a matter of letting Brooke know, when the time is right.

"She's all tuckered out," Brooke says, soft, and Lucas breaks out of his reverie to see Marie has fallen asleep in his arms.

"That was fast," he comments.

"It's been a pretty fun day," Brooke says.

"Yeah," he says, smiling. "It has."

Over to the side, a teenaged girl shrieks with laughter as a boy begins chasing her through the meadow. Lucas glances back down at Marie, whose slumber remains unbothered. Still, he knows, it'll only be a matter of time before the next commotion.

"I should probably get her home," he says.

Brooke nods. "The fireworks'll be starting soon. She won't be able to sleep through that if we stay out here."

"We could probably see them from my front steps," Lucas says. "Would you like to come back and watch them with me?"

"That sounds nice, Luke," she says with a dimpled smile. "I'd love to."

And so Lucas and Brooke pack up their things and amble home, Marie slumbering softly in Lucas's arms. In the twilight, with its dim lighting and blurred edges, Lucas wonders if they look like a family. They certainly feel like one.

"May I tuck her in?" Brooke requests, hushed, once they enter his foyer.

Lucas nods and, carefully, transfers Marie into Brooke's arms. He's mesmerized seeing her cradle his daughter, face serious and intent as if she were carrying to most precious cargo in the world – which she is – and turn down the hall. Without thinking, he follows her and watches as she lowers Marie into bed, smoothes the sheets over her, and drops a kiss on her forehead.

That deep ache in his chest comes roaring back.

Brooke's eyes are glittering as she walks out of the darkened room to stand next to him.

"You're a lucky guy, Lucas Scott," she says quietly.

Lucas wants to say something about how he would have never made it here, without her, but that seems like too complicated a subject to bring up right now, so he just nods.

"Let's go watch some fireworks, Brooke," he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her towards the front of the house. True to his word, they have a clear shot of the show from his stoop as they settle down to watch it.

"It's been so long since I've stopped to do anything like this," Brooke says, smiling.

"Me too," Lucas says, watching as a silvery firework crackles and pops against the night sky.

"Do you remember that summer you went to Charleston?"

Lucas lifts a brow. "Yeah…why?"

"Me and Peyton watched the fireworks show on the beach that summer," she explains. "That was the last time, I think."

"Hmm," he says contemplatively, "that's funny."

"Why?"

"Because Peyton and I watched them on the beach the next summer."

Brooke pauses for a moment. Then she hits him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Wasn't that the summer after you told me you wanted to be with me?"

"You were in California!" Lucas defends himself.

Brooke groans. "Not the point. Watching fireworks with someone is _romantic_."

"Really?" Lucas challenges. "Because we just so happen to be watching fireworks right now, _friend_."

She rolls her eyes. "This is different."

"How?"

"It just is."

Lucas would push the issue if he thought he would get anywhere with it, but he already knows he won't. It is Brooke he's dealing with after all.

"Did you miss us while you were in Charleston, Luke?" she asks suddenly.

He glances up, surprised. "Did you miss us while you were in California?" he counters.

"I asked first."

Lucas folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the step behind him. "Always so mature, Brooke," he says.

"Come on," she wheedles, "did you?"

He looks over at her again. She's looking up at the sky. The show is nearing its finale. Above them, a red firework explodes and fades into a glittery gold as it sinks into oblivion.

"Every day," he says honestly. "I missed you every day."

"Me too," Brooke says with a sigh. "Every day."

**Side note/clarification: **For those who may not know, IKEA is a furniture store big enough to get lost for a week in. They sell lots of _everything _really cheap, and it's great, but it's also a huge pain because it comes in unassembled pieces that you have to put together yourself. Also, the instruction booklets are horrible. Also, some of the stuff is kind of flimsy. But it's cheap.

Obviously my apartment is fully decked out by IKEA.


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Author's Note:** How is it already the end of July? I'm afraid this story had to hit the back burner for a while as I started my first real job and settled into a new situation, but I'm back, guys. If you're still with me, that's amazing. Thank you. The reviews and the messages mean more to me than you know. Also, I wanted to address one small concern that was brought to my attention. I am so flattered if anybody out there feels inspired by this fanfiction, but please, _please_ don't lift passages without my permission and incorporate them into your own story. Thanks again, and I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Brooke sends him roses.

Lucas is a little sheepish accepting them from the delivery guy because, honestly, he's never been on the receiving side of twelve long-stemmed red roses before. Judging from the dubious expression on the delivery guy's face, he's never delivered this particular gift to a man before either.

"Sign here, please."

"My friend does stuff like this sometimes," Lucas explains, needlessly, as he takes the pen. "She likes to be over-the-top. She also likes to embarrass me."

"Not judging, man," the delivery guy says.

"Do you know why she sent them?" Lucas asks.

The guy shrugs. "I just deliver 'em. But I'm pretty sure there's a note."

Lucas glances back at the bundle in his hand. Sure enough, there's a small white envelope sticking out between a pair of perfect blooming roses. "Thanks," he says. "Have a good day."

"You too."

As the deliverer retreats down the steps and across the street, where his truck is parked, Lucas plucks the envelope out from amidst the roses, and tears open the seal. Inside he finds a small, rectangular card, with only a few words written in Brooke's elegant script.

_Will you go to the Baby Brooke opening with me?_

Despite himself, he grins. Then, he forces a stern face as he reaches into his pocket for his cell phone and dials up Brooke's number.

"You're ridiculous," he says, as soon as she picks up.

"You got my flowers," Brooke says gleefully.

"You mean _my_flowers," Lucas corrects. "It wasn't awkward at all accepting them from the delivery man."

"Shame," Brooke teases. "I was hoping it would be."

"Ha ha," Lucas says dryly. "What is all this, Brooke?"

"Well," Brooke says slowly, "I thought the note explained it but maybe not. I would like you to be my date to the grand opening of my store."

"You know you could've just texted me," Lucas points out.

"That's no fun," Brooke protests. "Besides you could use the flowers for your house. Put them in a vase in the kitchen. _Or_you could give them to me when you come to pick me up."

Lucas laughs in earnest now. "And the truth emerges."

"Just a suggestion," Brooke says innocently, but he can practically hear the grin in her voice.

"Yeah, yeah," Lucas says, shaking his head.

"So then you'll come?"

"Hmm," he teases. "If I hold out, will I get more presents?"

"You're awful," she groans. "Pick me up Friday at seven. Millicent can watch Marie if you need her to. She's good with kids."

"Thanks," Lucas says, "but I should probably ask Lindsay if she wants to spend that time with Marie first."

"Of course," Brooke says, "just know that the offer's open."

"Thanks, Brooke. See you Friday?"

"Oh, you'll probably see me before then," Brooke says cryptically. Before Lucas can ask what she means, she hangs up.

As it turns out, _before then _is code for 7 o'clock on Thursday morning, beating Lucas's alarm to the punch by a good two hours.

"Why?" Lucas asks pitifully, still semi-incoherent, as he sits at his kitchen table and stares at his coffee cup in front of him.

"Because I need to make sure everything's ready for tomorrow – including you," Brooke says from behind her laptop, which she's been buried in since the second she sat down across from him, "and this is really the only time I've got available. C'mon Lucas, perk up. I've been awake for two hours already."

"You're psychotic," Lucas groans, taking a long swig out of his cup.

"And you're a baby," Brooke retorts. She rolls her eyes. "_Writers_."

Lucas glares at her over the rim of his mug. She glances up, seeing him, and smiles apologetically. "It won't take long, I promise." She pauses, and he waves her on in affirmation.

"Okay, so the thing is…"

But Lucas never finds out what the thing is. Because that's when Brooke stops mid-sentence, wearing a heavy scowl. "I hate Hounder," she grumbles, pushing herself away from the laptop.

"Hounder?" Lucas repeats. "Like, 'one who hounds'? What's that?"

Brooke sighs and turns the computer screen towards him. "Snarky New York gossip blog. It's bad enough they post the restaurant I'm in every time I want a sandwich, but now…"

Lucas walks over and scrolls down the page. His eyes widen. Literally half of the posts are about Brooke. He looks up at her, confused.

"People love to see a celebrity comeback," Brooke shrugs. "Almost as much as they like to see the comeback _fail_."

"What?" Lucas says. "That's not true…"

Brooke points at one of the headlines. "The Many Missteps of Brooke Davis," it reads, "Why starlets aren't meant to be CEOs."

"Rude," Lucas frowns.

"Exactly," Brooke says, finger hovering over the laptop "off" button.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Is that my name?"

"No," Brooke says hastily, but Lucas stops her from slamming her laptop shut.

"Yes, it is! Why are they writing about me?"

He leans in for a closer look. "Brookie Cookie's Newest Boytoy…" He wrinkles his nose. "_Brookie Cookie_?" he says. "_Boytoy?_"

"I told you," Brooke says, rolling her eyes. "They like to think they're snarky."

Lucas frowns and keeps reading:

"Brooke Davis attempts to show off her deep side Paris Hilton-style by popping up all over New York with a special friend. But instead of toting around a Buddhist monk like her predecessor, Brookie's got renowned New York Times bestseller Lucas Scott on her arm. Too bad she's probably never even cracked open a picture book, let alone his 700 page monster memoir."

He sits back in the chair, disgusted. "Do they even know the first thing about my book? Half of its about you!"

Brooke sighs and takes the laptop back, shutting it and glancing away. "They're not going to win any Pulitzer's for investigative reporting, that's for sure," she says, "but a lot of people in the city do read this site. It's just another thing to worry about. I don't need potential customers thinking I'm an irresponsible business owner."

"Hey," Lucas says gently, ducking his head to make her look at him. "Forget them. All of them. There are people who've said you couldn't do it before, Brooke Davis. And you've proved them wrong every time."

Brooke remains silent. Lucas grins, wry. "Do I need to start quoting Kennedy again?"

Finally, she cracks a smile.

"You're right," she says, "I'm over this crap."

"Good," he says. "Those people are idiots. Not worth your time or mine."

Brooke pauses. "So…about that. You're actually going to be hanging out with a lot of those kinds of people tomorrow. Probably a couple people from that site, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Lucas says, squinting.

Her grin turns sheepish, then fades. "Like I said, people like to see a celebrity comeback. Especially journalists. So a few of them are probably going to be there, and you're going to have to play nice with them."

"Brooke," Lucas starts.

"We used to give my dates a list," Brooke says, cutting him off. "Of pre-approved topics. Stuff they could and couldn't say. I know you have that whole J.D. Salinger reclusive, press-hating writer thing going on, but I trust you, Lucas. I trust you not to need a list, and I trust you not to freak out when I tell you that a list exists."

"Why would I freak out?" Lucas says, soft, because Brooke suddenly looks troubled.

Brooke bites her lip. "The fame thing is kind of freaky, sometimes, you know? I forgot about it in Tree Hill, but I had my first paparazzi encounter last week, and I remembered how intense it was. A lot of the friends I made here – or dates I had – couldn't really take it. It was a lot of pressure. So I was just lonely a lot of the time."

"Brooke," Lucas says gently, reaching over to take her hand. "Don't take this the wrong way but…your fame doesn't mean anything to me."

He pauses. Brooke cocks her head, confused. Lucas shoots her a smile.

"What I mean is, it will never define how I feel about you."

Brooke's lips curve upwards. "Lucas Scott, how do you always know the right thing to say?" she asks.

Lucas laughs and shakes his head. "Trust me, I wish I did. But sometimes I get lucky."

She reaches over the table and intertwines her fingers with his, still smiling. Lucas smiles back. Sometimes, he gets really lucky.

A day and a half later, Lucas arrives at Brooke's apartment, shifting uncomfortably in an old tux he had stored in the back of his closet. In his hand, he's got a bouquet of lilacs.

"You got a crush on me or something, Lucas Scott?" Brooke asks him, upon receiving the flowers. She's dressed in simple black, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose curls, and she is absolutely stunning.

"What?" he says stupidly.

She shoots him a cheeky grin. "Lilacs," she says, as she fetches a vase from a nearby cabinet. "They mean 'love's first emotion.'"

"I didn't know that."

"Well," Brooke says, eying the flowers thoughtfully as she arranges them. "Now you do."

"You look incredible, Brooke," he says, soft.

She glances back up at him, shoots him a dangerous, smoky smile. "You don't clean up so bad yourself, hotshot. Ready to party?"

"Yeah, how far away is it?" he asks, holding out an arm for her. "Are we walking or cabbing over?"

Brooke laughs delightedly as she sidles up next to him. "Oh no, Broody, we're getting there in style."

He doesn't even have time to ask – the limousine's already waiting outside for them as they walk through the door. When he turns to her, incredulously, Brooke looks a bit sheepish for the first time all night.

"Image means a lot in this industry," she explains. "Plus the investors have been a bit, um, generous."

"A bit?" Lucas repeats.

"Well," she says thoughtfully. "We'll know if they've been _really_ generous if there's a bottle of champagne waiting for us in there."

Lucas laughs and Brooke cracks a wicked grin as they allow themselves to be ushered into the car by the driver.

And, for the moment, they are sixteen again – going to prom, riding in a limo for the first time, humming with nervous, anticipatory energy. There are bright smiles and hand-holding and a few stolen swigs out of a champagne bottle, "for nerves."

Then, the limo pulls up to the curb and the first photographer's flashbulb goes off, and the moment passes.

"Brooke! Brooke Davis! Over here!"

"How does it feel to be reopening, Brooke?"

"Will your mother be involved again?"

"Any truth to the rumor that she stole your last company from you?"

"Who's the guy?"

Brooke turns, slowly, and shoots them all a wide grin. "I'm very excited to announce the grand opening of my new line. I've always loved children, and I'm at the age that many of my friends are starting to settle down and look to the future, so this seemed like a natural progression. Thank you for being here with me tonight to celebrate."

Other than the journalists, the party is a pretty simple, classic affair. At one point in the evening, a group of mothers trot around infants dressed in Brooke's designs, and people coo at the adorable spectacle, of course, but that's about as gimmicky as it gets.

"They wanted to serve cocktails out of miniature baby bottles," Brooke murmurs to him as she takes a sip out of her champagne flute. "I passed on that idea."

Lucas makes a face. "Probably for the best."

"I know, right?" she giggles. "Can you imagine the headlines that would have spawned?"

Lucas grins as a woman comes up to congratulate Brooke on her new line.

"Absolutely darling," she says, shaking Brooke's hand, "I want to buy something for all my nieces and nephews."

"Be my guest!" Brooke says, laughing. "But, really, thank you. I'm glad you like the line."

The woman gushes enthusiastically for a few more minutes before bidding Brooke farewell. Brooke turns to Lucas, eyes wide. "That was a buyer from Macy's," she explains under her breath. "We used to work with her at Clothes Over Bro's. If we could get a few outfits from here in their kids' department, that would be huge."

"She seemed to be pretty open to the idea," Lucas says.

Brooke nods. "Hopefully. Buyers can be fickle. I was lucky that she even showed up."

"Brooke Davis?" a voice says behind them.

They turn around to see a man with a recorder in his hands. "Yes?" Brooke says with a smile.

"I'm Gavin Johnston, with Hounder."

"Right, of course," she says pleasantly. Lucas marvels at her restraint. "How are you?"

"I'm doing good, and you?"

"Really great," she says.

"Everything looks like its going well," he says, nodding around them. "People seem to really like the clothes."

"The response has been really encouraging," Brooke agrees. "Beyond expectation."

"Great," he says. "So are you nervous at all, this time around?"

"There's always an element of that, I think, when you're embarking on something new," she says, and Lucas knows he's getting a glimpse of Brooke the CEO - a side he's never really been exposed to. "But I think the experience helps, of course. I have at least a rough template this time around."

"To avoid being forced to hand over your company again?"

Her smile never falters. Lucas tries very hard to keep his expression neutral as well. "Yes," she says lightly. "That would be ideal."

Gavin gestures to Lucas. "And who's this? Your date?"

"Lucas is a close friend," she says, placing a hand on his arm. "We went to high school together."

"Lucas, as in Lucas Scott?"

"Yeah," Lucas speaks up. "I wrote a book once. You may recognize Brooke as one of the main characters."

Gavin fumbles a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas can see Brooke suppressing a grin. "Of course. The book was great. The critical reception alone..."

"It's okay if you didn't read the whole thing," Brooke throws in cheekily. "It was 700 pages. A bit long, you know?"

"I…" Gavin stutters.

"I _told _him his book could really benefit from less words and more pictures," she continues. "But he just wouldn't listen."

"If you'll excuse me," the journalist mumbles, red-faced as he walks away.

Lucas bursts out laughing. "Brooke!" he whispers, "that was brilliant."

She shrugs, but looks pleased nonetheless. "Sometimes you have to stop catering to people and let your work speak for itself."

"I believe I taught you that," a voice says behind them.

They spin around. "Victoria?" Brooke says.

"It's nice to see you, Brooke," she says, nodding. She pauses briefly when her eyes fall on her companion. "And you too, Lucas."

"I'd like to say I'm happy you're here, Victoria," Lucas says. "But I'm afraid that if I turn my back, you'll run away with your daughter's heart again."

Victoria doesn't even flinch. "I suppose I deserved that. But I could also say the same to you."

"Okay," Brooke cuts in, holding up a hand before the two of them can go any further. "Enough. Victoria, I'm glad you came. Confused, but…glad all the same."

"Really?" Victoria says, raising a brow.

"Yeah," Brooke replies. "I wanted you to see that I could make it without you."

"In _spite _of you," Lucas can't resist adding.

Victoria just barely bites something back and forces a neutral expression on her face. "Before you two gang up on me too harshly," she says instead. "I'd like to discuss something with you, Brooke. In private."

Brooke hesitates, glancing at Lucas. "It'll be worth your while," Victoria adds. "I promise."

_Absolutely not_, Lucas wants to say, but looking back at Brooke, he knows this is her decision to make. He has to step aside and let her be strong.

As usual, she makes the brave choice. Lucas resigns himself to accepting the determination in her eyes before she even opens her mouth to speak.

"Let's step outside then, mother."

Victoria nods, satisfied, and gestures for Brooke to lead the way. That's when Lucas notices for the first time that she's carrying a thick folder in her hands. He cocks his head as they walk off and slip out the door.

It's hard waiting, he thinks, sipping idly at a beer. A few people come up, politely inquiring if he's really Lucas Scott, and when he says yes, they ask if he'll have another book coming out soon.

He says he's working on it.

Just before he's about to crawl out of his own skin in anticipation, Brooke comes back into the store alone, looking shell-shocked. He notices that she's now carrying the folder Victoria had in her hands.

Lucas immediately walks up to her. "What'd she say?"

She looks up at him, as if seeing him for the first time tonight. "She gave me back the company," she says.

"She _what_?"

"She gave me back Clothes Over Bro's," Brooke repeats. "Not all of it but…enough. I have the majority now."

"Brooke, that's…"

Her eyes tear up. "She said that she realized that her priorities were all wrong. That she made a terrible mistake in giving up her daughter for a company."

"Also," she adds, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. "The shareholders didn't seem to like her very much."

Lucas laughs, despite himself. "Color me shocked," he says dryly. "Brooke, I…I'm so incredibly happy for you."

Brooke gives him a small smile. "I'm happy too," she says. "I'm happy and I'm shocked and I'm…hell, I don't even know what I am anymore. I'm not the writer here, what's the word for this?"

Lucas takes her hand. "If there's one thing I've learned after all these years," he says. "It's that sometimes there aren't any words."

Brooke nods, and together, they turn back to her guests. The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur.

Sometime later, when they're helping the caterers dismantle what's left of the party, Brooke asks him to step outside with her.

"I've been thinking about what all this means," she says, eyes shining under the glow of a streetlight.

"And?" Lucas prods.

"And I think you're going to have to put up with me for a while longer," she says, shrugging helplessly as she giggles. "There's so much for me to do here now. Definitely a lot of people to meet with. And paperwork…oh God, the _paperwork_…"

He grins.

"Not funny," she says.

"A little funny," he corrects.

She shakes her head.

"But there's something I have to do before all that," she says abruptly. "Something I've been planning for a while."

"Yeah?" he asks. "What's that?"

She looks at him intently. "I need to go back to Tree Hill. Get some things I left behind. Say goodbye."

"Right," he says, glancing away. His throat feels oddly tight. "Of course."

"I bought three tickets, Lucas," she says. "It's only for a weekend."

"I…um…" he mutters, "Well, it's just…"

"I've been speaking with Hayley. She'd really love to see Marie. Nathan too." Brooke pauses. "And Peyton."

"You've kept in touch with all of them?" he asks.

"Of course I have, Luke," she says. "They're my _family_, Luke. They're yours too."

Lucas runs a hand over his face. "It's been so long."

"They understand," she assures him. "But that doesn't mean that they don't miss you. We all did."

"I missed…everyone," he says. "Every day, I wanted to pick up the phone."

"But?" she prods. "Is there something you're afraid of, Luke?"

"Not _something_, per se," he struggles to explain. "It's just, every time I go back to Tree Hill, things get complicated. Bad, even."

"You know how it was," he adds. "Aren't you worried at all?"

Brooke smiles at him and shakes her head. "We were young back then. We had so many mistakes left to make."

"And now?"

"Now, hopefully we can make our peace with them. Find some clarity."

Lucas looks at her wearily. "When'd you get to be so wise?"

"Someone had to step up while you were gone," she chirps, shrugging.

"Maybe it's time," he says, heavy. "It's been so long since I've seen everyone. Jamie's probably so big, and Sarah…God, I haven't even_ met_ Sarah."

"She's completely adorable," Brooke says. "Has Nathan wrapped around her finger. I think she and Marie would like each other."

"They're only a year apart," he says as the realization dawns on him. "I never even thought of that. You're right, Brooke." He sounds more confident now, at least.

"So we're going back to Tree Hill?" Brooke says tentatively.

Lucas nods. "We're going back to Tree Hill."


	7. There's Only One

**Author's Note: **Bet yall didn't think this was coming, huh? Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this for so long. You guys are great.

"Hi folks, this is your captain speaking. We'll be landing in another five minutes. Looks like it's a scorcher out there today. Local temperature is 97 degrees. Time is 4:38 pm. Welcome to Tree Hill, North Carolina."

Lucas is not a nervous flier, but right now he is gripping his handrests. Marie, next to him, is happily oblivious. "Tree Hill?" she repeats, bouncing in her seat.

Brooke is the one to respond. "Yes," she gushes. "Are you excited, Marie? This is where your Daddy and me grew up."

"Daddy home?"

"Yep!" Brooke chirps. "This was his home."

"Why Daddy leave?"

Brooke hesitates. Lucas clears his throat. "Because I loved your mommy very much," he says, his voice gravelly. "And she wanted to be in New York."

Marie nods, satisfied, and discontinues the line of questioning. Brooke looks over the top of her head and shoots Lucas a sympathetic look. He forces a smile in return.

_What is he doing back here?_

He knows the answer to that already. He's been over it in his head a million times already. He's here to see Nathan and Haley and Jamie and Sarah. He's here to see his mother and Andy and Lily. He's here to see Peyton.

He's here to finally prove to himself that he can move forward with his future and hold onto his past at the same time. Because up until this point it's always been a matter of choosing one or the other, and neither leaves him feeling completely healthy or whole.

Maybe he will have to let some things go during this trip, he thinks. He sneaks a glance over at Brooke and wonders what he can and can't afford to lose, ultimately.

Brooke catches him in the act and smiles, clearly unaware of his thoughts. It makes his heart thump harder in his chest, making him painfully aware of how precariously things hang in the balance.

The words spill out before he can stop them. "Promise me, no matter what happens, that you'll be on the plane back to New York with me after this weekend."

"Of course, Lucas," she replies, looking confused. "We booked our flights together."

"I know." He hesitates. "Just promise me."

She bites her lip. "Lucas," she starts, "I hate that your last memory in Tree Hill was a bad one, but everything's going to be fine, okay?"

_But my last memory here wasn't a bad one_, he thinks, _it was with you_. At the time, yes, it had been sad, but ultimately, that meeting on the Rivercourt had been the reason they had found their way back to each other.

He could never look back on that as a "bad memory."

"Yeah, Brooke," he says instead. "You're right. Everything's going to be okay." He pastes a smile on his face. "I'm looking forward to seeing everyone again, actually."

Brooke squints her eyes, looking as if she wants to say more, but the captain's voice crackles back on over the loudspeaker. "Approaching final descent. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and tray tables are stowed. All seats must be in an upright position. It's been a pleasure flying with you today."

Facing forward, Lucas braces himself for the landing, and so much more.

Karen, Andy and Lily are the ones to pick them up from the airport. Karen's grin is wide across her face and Andy's is nearly as big. His half sister Lily even manages a pretty smile, which Lucas notes with some amusement, because from his last correspondence with his mother he had gathered that the girl was deep in the throes of pre-teen angst.

Maybe that type of thing was genetic, he had thought, recalling his own adolescence.

"Lucas!" his mother cries, rushing up to him.

He catches her in a bone-crushing hug, all his fears from the flight giving way to joy. "Hey, Ma," he says. "Missed you."

She pulls away, eyes shining. She gives him one last squeeze, as if to make sure he's not made of air, and then turns to Marie.

"Look at how big you've gotten! What a gorgeous girl."

Marie giggles happily. "Grandma!"

Andy steps up. "Good to see you again, Lucas."

"You too," Lucas says, embracing him. He glances over Andy's shoulder at Lily in the background.

"How are you doing, Miss Lily?"

"I go by _Roe _now."

"Roe?" Lucas repeats, crinkling his nose. "Since when? When you guys came to visit last Christmas…"

"Since the new year," she clarifies. "Roe is much more sophisticated."

He looks at his mom, who is chatting with Brooke with Marie held against her hip. Karen rolls her eyes.

"It's my middle name," Lily – rather, _Roe_ – says defensively.

Lucas holds up his hands in peace. "It's a good name," he concurs.

"Very cool," Brooke adds, winking.

Lily flushes a bit, and Lucas remembers quite suddenly that Brooke is somewhat of a celebrity, especially for this town.

"It's two o'clock," Andy says, glancing at his watch. "Did they feed you guys on the plane?"

Lucas, Brooke and Marie all shake their heads in unison. Karen and Andy look positively thrilled. Belatedly, Lucas remembers how his mother and Andy met through their shared love of _cooking._

"Now you've done it," Lily says, rolling her eyes.

Her words prove to be prophetic. By the end of the meal, Lucas is so stuffed that all he wants to do is go collapse in his old bedroom and sleep it off like Thanksgiving dinner.

Brooke, who managed to show more restraint while eating, tugs on his arm. "We ought to stop by Nathan and Haley's. Come on, the walk will be good for you."

"I'm going to hurl," Lucas says in return.

Eventually, Brooke wins out, if only because she's so damn persistent. Plus, she pulls this trump card: "Lucas, on the plane Marie told me how excited she is to meet her Aunt Haley and Uncle Nathan. Are you really going to make her keep waiting? After three _years_?"

And so off they go. The nauseous feeling in his stomach doesn't fade, and at some point Lucas wonders whether it's still because of all that food or if maybe his nerves don't have something to do with it.

He hesitates when they finally reach Nathan and Haley's front door. It doesn't go unnoticed by Brooke.

"I know it's been a while, Lucas…" she starts.

"I'm fine," he says quickly.

"Haley's your oldest friend," Brooke continues, undeterred. "And Nathan's your brother. They understand."

Lucas glances away from the door over to Brooke and gives her a tight smile. Then he rings the doorbell.

"I'll get it!" a voice calls from inside. Lucas barely has time to steel himself before the door swings open and his best friend since childhood is standing there in front of him. She is simple and pretty as always, in a flowy white top and blue jeans.

"Oh my god!" Haley says, her eyes widening into saucers. "Lucas!" She jumps up and throws her arms around him.

As Lucas pulls her in tight, he knows he was stupid to be nervous before. Brooke was right. He doesn't feel awkward or guilty at all. Just overwhelmingly happy to see the girl he considers family again.

She pulls away, but still keeps hold of his hands, looking just as overjoyed. "I can't believe you're really here. I mean, Brooke told me you guys were coming and all, but it's just been so long and oh my god, hi, Brooke, I didn't even see you behind Lucas…"

"Haley," Lucas cuts in, grinning. "Breathe."

Haley takes in an exaggeratedly huge breath. "Happy?" But she doesn't even wait for his response because she's too busy hugging Brooke. Typical.

When they're done, Lucas gestures to the last person in the foyer, currently peeking around his legs with big moppet eyes. "There's also someone else who's really excited to see you," he says to Haley with a pointed look down at his daughter. "Marie, this is your Aunt Haley."

Haley's breath catches as she glances down and sees Marie. Slowly, as if not to startle the girl, she kneels down to be at Marie's eye level. "Hi Marie," she says softly.

"Hi Aunt Haley," Marie mumbles.

"Aunt Haley likes books almost as much as you do, kiddo," Lucas says, ruffling Marie's hair.

Marie looks up at him, then back at Haley. "You like reading?"

Haley smiles. "I do. What's your favorite book?"

"_Curious George_."

"I loved the one too," Haley says. "So do your cousins. I think you'll get along with them." She looks back up at Lucas and Brooke. "Nathan's with the kids in the back, if you want to go see them."

"Of course we do," Brooke says excitedly. "How are Jamie and Sarah? She starts school in September, right?"

"Kindergarten," Haley says, nodding, as she leads them through the house. "And they're doing great. They've missed you though. Sarah's been asking for you to make her a new dress for her first day."

"What color?" Brooke asks.

Haley laughs. "No way, Brooke. I know how busy you are. I was just warning you ahead of time so you could turn her down gently."

Brooke looks aghast. "I can always fit in time to make a fabulous new dress for my goddaughter. She's got to make a good first impression at school."

"She's five."

"Popularity is determined early," Brooke responds airily.

Haley shakes her head and glances at Lucas, who shrugs. "We both know I'm no good at being popular," he says.

"No," Brooke says. "You're not."

Lucas squints at her. "Though I did date the head cheerleader."

"I heard she needed help with English class," Brooke retorts.

"Aren't they silly?" Haley says, her remark directed towards Marie.

The little girl nods solemnly. "Very silly."

Lucas and Brooke both pause and look down at her, while Haley bursts into laughter. "She's more mature than both of you," she says, taking Marie's hand as they step out onto the back porch. Before Lucas and Brooke can respond, Haley calls out for her family.

"Nathan! Jamie! Sarah! Look who's here!"

The three of them, playing some kind of keep-away game – with a basketball, of course – stop what they're doing and look up.

"Aunt Brooke!" Jamie and Sarah yell, before running up towards them.

"Lucas!" Nathan yells simultaneously, following his children.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas sees the kids tackle-hug Brooke as Nathan comes up and claps him on the shoulder.

"Good to have you back, man!"

"Good to be back," Lucas says, clasping Nathan's shoulder in return.

To the right of them, Haley gives a huff. They both look over at her.

"What?" they say simultaneously.

"You two are such _guys_," she says, before pulling them both into a bone crushing three-way hug.

"She's still as sentimental as ever," Nathan says to Lucas over the top of Haley's head.

"Hadn't noticed," Lucas says.

Haley isn't deterred. "Don't act like you guys didn't want to do that," she says as she steps away, back beside Lucas's daughter. "And, Nathan? This is your niece, Marie. Marie, your Uncle Nathan."

"Hi Uncle Nathan," Marie says shyly.

Nathan kneels down beside her, much like Haley had done, but Lucas doesn't get a chance to hear what Nathan says because suddenly Brooke's there, steering him towards Jamie and Sarah with a light hand on his back.

"Jamie, Sarah, this is your Uncle Lucas. You remember Uncle Lucas, don't you, Jamie?"

Jamie nods slowly, smiling. "You used to babysit me."

"Sure did," Lucas says. "You've gotten a lot bigger since then, man."

Jamie flips his hair out of his eyes, "Yep. I'm training for the basketball team this year in middle school."

"Yeah? You better get a hair cut then."

"That's what I keep saying," Nathan grumbles, cutting in. They all turn to see Marie in Nathan's arms, looking at him as adoringly as any girl ever has. Lucas rolls his eyes. Some things never change.

"Are you kidding?" Jamie demands, gesturing to his sandy-brown mop. "Chicks _dig _this. They think I look like Justin Bieber."

"Justin Bieber?" Lucas asks.

"Be thankful you don't know," Nathan says.

"He's the best singer in the whole wide world," a small voice says below them.

Lucas looks down to see a girl with a curly head of dark brown hair and big brown eyes, like Haley's. "You must be Sarah," he says.

The girl nods. "And you're Uncle Lucas?"

He nods. "I am."

"If you're my uncle, how come I've never met you before?"

Lucas holds up a hand before Haley or Nathan can interject. "That's a good question, Sarah," he says. "I live very far away, and so it was hard for me to come back to Tree Hill. But I wanted to come back to see you and Jamie very much."

"Even though you never met me?"

"Even though I never met you," Lucas nods. "You're my brother's daughter, and that makes you family. It also makes you Marie's family," he says, gesturing up to his daughter.

Nathan sets Marie down in front of Sarah, who cocks her head. "How old are you?" she asks.

"Four and a half," Marie responds, holding up her fingers. "How old are you?"

"Five," Sarah says, puffing up her chest. "I'm going to kindergarten this year. Aunt Brooke is making me a green dress, cause that's my favorite color."

"Can I go to kindygarren?" Marie says, turning to Lucas.

"Soon. Next year," he promises, mollifying her.

Marie appears to find this answer acceptable, because rather than pursuing the subject further, she instead pursues Sarah – right out the back door.

Haley grins sheepishly. "Sarah doesn't like to be cooped up for too long. She's kind of a tomboy. Want to sit on the porch? I'll get us some iced tea."

The rest of the afternoon is long and pleasant and hot. They discuss their respective children (of course), Brooke's clothing store opening, Lucas's book (though no amount of wheedling from the girls gets him to divulge what it's about), and then finally, they turn to reminiscing.

"...and then you dumped the hot cocoa on me! Brooke, it wasn't funny! That was _scalding_."

"Somebody had to get your wedding ring back after Broody messed it all up," Brooke shrugs, giggled. "I just took the initiative."

Hayley scowls, while the rest of them laugh. Brooke leans back into the couch, dreamy-eyed. "That was a good vacation. Remember how I made out with Pete Wentz?"

This time, Lucas scowls. "While you were dating me, yes."

"He was on my list!" Brooke says defensively.

"Wait," Nathan cuts in. "What list?"

"You know," Brooke says. "The list of five famous people you can make out with if the opportunity presents itself. No repercussions."

Nathan turns to Haley. "Really?"

"No," Haley swats him.

"Both parties have to agree on it, which Luke and I did," Brooke says diplomatically. "It's not _my _fault Natalie Portman never showed up in Tree Hill."

"Who knows, maybe she'll be at the party tonight," Haley adds, putting a hand on Lucas's knee. It only causes his scowl to deepen. The rest burst out laughing again.

* * *

As it turns out, Natalie Portman doesn't show up to the party, but it seems like everybody else does, Lucas thinks later, scanning the crowd in front of him at Tric. Brooke is close by his side, smiling brightly as old friends from high school rush up to them, welcoming them home, begging them to move back.

"It's just not the same without you guys," Bevin cajoles. Skills nods beside her, his arm slung loosely around her waist.

"Y'all need to wrap up this city business and come home," he agrees. "You know there's an opening as a basketball coach at the high school?" he adds, addressing Lucas.

"Yeah!" Bevin squeals. "And you can open a Baby Brooke down here!" she says to Brooke.

Lucas and Brooke glance at each other. "It's just not the right time yet," Lucas says over the music. "But someday."

Brooke nods in agreement. "Maybe sooner rather than later for me. Who knows?"

Bevin squeals again and launches herself into Brooke's arms, despite the vagueness of her answer. "I am _so _excited. And you know who else will be excited?"

"Who?" Brooke asks.

Bevin looks around conspiratorially. "Owen! You know, he still asks about you just about every day."

"Really?" Brooke says with a weak smile. "Owen?"

Bevin nods vigorously. "You did a number on him, Brooke Davis. He'd take you back in a heartbeat."

"Good to know, I guess," Brooke replies, looking down at her shoes.

Lucas furrows a brow. "Owen?"

"Uh, yeah," Brooke says, looking back up at him. "We had a thing, for a bit. After you left."

"_So _cute," Bevin puts in. They both turn to look at her, wordlessly.

"Well, would you look at that?" Skills speaks up. "I think that's Fergie over there. We should say hi to Fergie, honey. Have you talked to him yet, Lucas?"

Lucas nods. Skills smiles and claps his shoulder. "It was good seeing you, man."

"You too, bud," Lucas says, squeezing his arm in return. "You too."

The couple walks over to the bar to where Fergie is, Bevin chattering away, entirely oblivious to the prior awkwardness.

Brooke and Lucas glance back at each other.

"I think I saw Owen earlier, if you wanted to say hi to him," he says, low.

Brooke shakes her head. "I don't."

"Okay," Lucas says, studying her thoughtfully, wanting to ask more – but knowing that the timing was off. Someone interrupts them anyway.

"Lucas? Lucas Scott?" a man says, standing in front of them quite suddenly.

"Yeah?" Lucas says, squinting. He's sure he's never met him before, so how does the guy know him? A fan of his book, maybe? He used to get recognized for it from time to time, but it's been years since anyone's approached him about it.

The man sticks out a hand. "Oh, man, what luck. It's good to meet you. I read your book. It was really…well, it was really special."

"Oh," Lucas says, smiling politely and shaking the proffered hand. "Thanks."

"So I guess I should introduce myself," the man continues. "I'm Julian Baker."

"Okay," Lucas says slowly. "Well, I'm Lucas…but you already knew that. And this is Brooke. Brooke Davis." He gestures toward her, briefly noting how uncharacteristically quiet she'd been ever since Bevin brought up Owen.

"So you're the other girl?" Julian says, looking delighted.

Brooke visibly flinches at this. Lucas reaches over and takes her hand, glaring at Julian all the while.

"She was in the book, yeah," he says, through gritted teeth.

Julian laughs and shakes his head. "Man!" he exclaims. "Never would've thought that you'd end up with the other girl."

"My name is Brooke," Brooke finally speaks up, eyes flashing. "And we're not together. Just friends."

"Hmm," Julian says thoughtfully. "So you're single?"

Lucas resists the urge to growl. Luckily, beside him, Brooke looks disgusted.

"And unavailable," she says flatly.

"Never said I was interested," Julian returns smoothly.

Brooke gears up to make some kind of response, but Lucas never hears it, because across the room, he can't help but notice someone quietly duck into the bar. For a moment, he is still.

Lucas remembers the first time he ever saw Peyton Sawyer. He remembers the first words she ever said to him and the first time she kissed him. He remembers senior year of high school and falling in love and that quiet day in the motel room when she folded a ring back into his palm and told him she wasn't ready. Five years ago, Lucas told Peyton how hard it was to see her, with all that history between them, and then they didn't see each other anymore.

That, of course, wasn't the happy ending people were looking for when they recognized him and asked, "what ever happened to the girl in the book?"

But now, the girl in the book is here, walking towards him, and Lucas can't quite decipher how he feels.

"Hi Lucas," Peyton says, and the rest of the room goes as still as he is.

"Peyton," he says, and on instinct, envelops her in a hug. She wraps her arms around him in return, and Lucas is certain he hears more than a few sighs of relief in the background. "How are you?" he asks, pulling away.

She smiles, looking genuinely happy. "Can't complain. I started up a record label, and we just signed this new artist. I was working with her before I got here. She's _incredible_. Her music just…it means something, you know?"

"Yeah," Lucas says. "I know." They go silent for a beat, meeting each other's eyes. "Well, with that kind of endorsement, I can't wait to hear her."

She nods. Another voice cuts in. "Pey?"

Lucas and Peyton turn to see Brooke and Julian staring at them with similarly inscrutable expressions. "Oh," Peyton says. "You guys met Julian?"

Brooke crinkles her brow. "Yeah," she says. "How do you know him?"

"Brooke," Peyton says, with a meaningful nod. "This is _Julian_."

A pause. Brooke's eyes widen as they swing back to the stranger. "_The _Julian?" she says. "I thought you said he lived in L.A.!"

"He came here a couple months ago," Peyton says, stepping past Lucas, beside Julian, and takes his hand. "For me. We're dating again."

"Oh my god," Brooke mutters.

"Again?" Lucas says.

For the first time, Peyton's smile flickers. Brooke shifts beside her. Julian finally clears his throat and breaks the silence.

"We dated a couple years ago while Peyton lived in California."

"After you left," Peyton clarifies to Lucas, quietly.

Julian glances down at her. "Yeah," he says, after a beat. "Then we broke up, and Peyton moved back here. Took me some time but…I realized what an idiot I was and followed her."

"Why'd you break up?" Lucas asks.

This time, nobody answers. "Why don't I get us all a drink?" Brooke says brightly. "Vodka okay? I think vodka sounds good right about now."

"I'll help you get them," Julian mutters, following her.

"Sorry," Lucas says, staring after them. "I didn't realize it was such a touchy subject."

Peyton sighs. "It probably wouldn't have been if anyone but you had brought it up. I thought Julian and I were past this."

He squints down at her. "What do you mean?"

She meets his gaze straight on. "It was _you_, Lucas. Julian broke up with me because he thought I wasn't over you. And he didn't think I ever would be."

Lucas opens his mouth, but doesn't get the chance to respond. "I got you a Bud, Luke," Brooke says as she returns, holding a beer out toward him. "I know you can't handle your liquor."

"Like you can," Lucas snorts, turning to her. He can feel Peyton's eyes on him, but realizes, quite simply, that isn't something he wants to approach at the moment. He tips his bottle towards Brooke, in thanks.

Brooke swallows, then smiles brightly. "A toast," she says, raising her glass. "To coming home."

"To home," they murmur, clinking their glasses.


End file.
